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The  Boys'  Life  of 
THEODORE    ROOSEVELT 


(After  the  portrait  by  John  S.  Sargent  now  hanging  in  the  White  House) 


The  Boys'  Life  of 

Theodore  Roosevelt 


BY 

HERMANN   HAGEDORN 

Author  of 

"you  are  the  hope  of  the  world: 

an   appeal   to   the  boys 

and  girls  of  america" 


ILLUSTRATED     WITH      PHOTOGRAPHS,      CARTOONS,      AND 
REPRODUCTIONS    OF    THEODORE     ROOSEVELT'S    OWN     DIARIES 

"Aggressive  fighting  for  the  right  is 
the  noblest  sport  the  world  affords." 

— Theodore  Roosevelt 


HARPER   &   BROTHERS   PUBLISHERS 

NEW   YORK    AND    LONDON 


The  Boys'  Life  of  Theodore  Roosevelt 


Copyright,  1018,  by  Harper  &  Brothers 

Printed  in  the  United  States  of  America 

Published  November,  1918 

a-t 


To  the  Memory 

of 

QUENT1N  ROOSEVELT 

who  died  at  twenty,  fighting  in  the  clouds 

against  odds,  and  for  a  great  cause 

this  story  of  adventure,  valor  and  service 

is  reverently  dedicated 


CONTENTS 

CHAP.  PAGE 

Acknowledgment xi 

Prologue    I 

I.  A  Boy  Arrives  and  Discovers  the  World     .    .  4 

II.  He  Grows 15 

III.  He  Goes  on  His  Travels  and  Learns  a  Thing  or 

Two 30 

IV.  He  Seeks  Out  Wise  Folk  of  Various  Sorts,  with 

Varying  Results 51 

V.  He  Finds  His  Place  in  the  Universe  without 

Quite  Knowing  It 65 

VI.  He  Goes  on  His  First  Real  Hunt 83 

VII.  He  Looks  for  Adventures  and  Finds  Them  .    .  98 

VIII.  Some  Folks   from   Maine   Turn   a   New  House 

into  a  New  Home 115 

IX.  The  End  of  the  Idyl 136 

X.  He  Brings  a  Graveyard  to  Life  and  Incident- 

ally Comes  to  Close  Grips  with  a  Bear  .    .  151 
XL         He  Jumps  into  a  Tiger's  Den  and  Emerges,  to 

the  Discomfiture  of  the  Tiger 165 

XII.  He  Walks  Through  the  Fiery  Furnace     .    .    .  181 

XIII.  He  Governs  a  Great  State  Justly  in  Spite  of 

the  "Interests" 207 

XIV.  He  Inaugurates  a  New  Era  . 233 

XV.  He  Establishes   Himself  and  His  Country  as  a 

World  Power  .     .     , 260 

XVI.  He  Goes  Out  into  the  Wilderness 292 

XVII.  He  Walks  with  Kings 316 

XVIII.  He  Returns  to  His  Own  People  and  Fights  a 

Good  Fight  Against  Odds 330 

XIX.  He  Goes  Out  after  New  Adventures  and  Nearly 

Finds  the  Greatest  of  All 348 

XX.  The  Great  Awakener 366 


ILLUSTRATIONS 


Theodore  Roosevelt Frontispiece 

Page  from  the  Diary  of  Theodore  Roosevelt,  Aged 

Nine Page       25 

Theodore   Roosevelt  at  Three,  at   Nine,  and  at 

Twenty-one 

Reform  Without  Bloodshed . 

Elkhorn  Ranch  from  Across  the  Little  Missouri 

River      

The  Ranch-house 

The  House  at  Sagamore  Hill 

Theodore  Roosevelt  as  Civil  Service  Commissioner 
Governor  Roosevelt  at  Sagamore  Hill  .... 

An  Impregnable  Shield 

Commissioner  Roosevelt  at  His  Desk  at  Police 

Headquarters  on  Mulberry  Street  .... 
Roosevelt:    "Hands   Off,    Tommy!     I'll    Do   the 

Driving!" 

Roosevelt  Cannot  Get  Away  from  This  Stampede 

"The  Rough  Rider" 

Taking  the  Bull  by  the  Horns        

Railroad  Legislation 

Theodore  Roosevelt  as  President F< 

Roosevelt's  Biggest  Game 

His  Favorite  Author 

He  Laughs  Best  Who  Laughs  Last      .    .    . 


Facing  p. 

40 

Page 

95 

Facing  p. 

116 

' ' 

116 

Page 

146 

Facing  p. 

154 

' ' 

154 

Page 

171 

'     174 

'       209 

'       227 

237 
239 
241 

ng  p.  246 

■■ge       248 

'         254 

261 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

One  of  Mr.  Roosevelt's  Quiet  Days Page     263 

Digging  the  Canal "  267 

Uncle  Sam:   "He's  Good  Enough  for  Me"    ...  "  271 

The  Fight  of  His  Life "  274 

"Next!" "  275 

No  Mollycoddling  Here "  279 

The  "Big  Stick"  in  a  New  Role "  282 

The  Very  Simple  Message  of  the  Big  Stick.    He 

Who  Runs  May  Read "  287 

Katydids "  288 

"God  Bless  You!" "  291 

The  Frightened  Animals "  295 

A  Page  from  Theodore  Roosevelt's  African  Diary  ' '  302 

Another  Page  from  the  Diary "  303 

Bwana  Makuba "  309 

In  the  Heart  of  Africa Facing  p.  310 

"Talk  about  Being  President!" Page  317 

A  Strenuous  Visitation  of  Old  Europe   ....  "  320 

Seeing  Roosevelt "  323 

"My  Boy!" "  331 

"Things  Haven't  Been  the  Same,  Theodore!"     .  "  332 

"Hurrah  for  Teddy!" "  334 

The  Faith  of  the  Common  People "  336 

A  Daniel "  338 

Theodore  Roosevelt  in  Action Facing  p.  342 

Laying  the  Foundations Page  344 

In  the  Brazilian  Wilderness Facing  p.  362 

He's  Good  Enough  for  All Page  370 


ACKNOWLEDGMENT 

In  recording  his  indebtedness  to  many  men  and  women  in  the 
making  of  this  book,  the  writer  of  it  must  inevitably  place  at  the 
top  of  his  list  his  deep  obligation  to  the  central  figure  of  his  narra- 
tive. Colonel  Roosevelt  has  from  the  outset  aided  him  in  his  re- 
searches with  characteristic  generosity.  He  has  opened  doors  which 
only  he  could  open;  he  has  turned  over  to  him  the  diaries  of  his 
boyhood  and  his  later  hunting-days ;  with  a  patience  and  good  nature 
which  showed  no  abatement  he  has  allowed  himself  to  be  catechized 
in  person  and  by  letter. 

Scarcely  less  great  is  the  author's  debt  to  Colonel  Roosevelt's 
.sisters,  Mrs.  W.  S.  Cowles  and  Mrs.  Douglas  Robinson,  who  have 
turned  over  to  him  Colonel  Roosevelt's  letters  to  them,  covering  a 
period  of  almost  forty  years.  The  friends  of  his  youth  in  Maine 
and  of  his  manhood  in  Dakota,  Willam  W.  Sewall  and  Mrs.  Sewall, 
of  Island  Falls,  Maine,  and  Mrs.  Wilmot  Dow  (now  Mrs.  Fleetwood 
Pride,  of  Houlton),  have,  in  response  to  Mr.  Roosevelt's  "Tell  all 
you  know  about  me.  Tell  the  worst  you  know  and  the  best  you 
can  conscientiously  say,"  dived  into  dusty  recesses  for  old  letters 
and  countless  memories  of  days  which  remain  in  a  sense  a  golden 
age  to  them.  Joseph  Murray,  who  inducted  Theodore  Roosevelt 
'into  politics;  Edward  Bourke  and  Otto  Raphael,  who  served  under 
him  on  the  New  York  police  force;  William  Loeb,  Jr.,  who  was  his 
private  secretary  as  Governor,  Vice-President,  and  President; 
Nathaniel  Elsberg,  who  fought  at  his  side  in  Albany,  Lawrence 
Abbott  and  others — have  in  one  way  and  another  given  help  that  has 
been  invaluable  and  is  herewith  gratefully  acknowledged. 

The  author's  obligations  to  various  books  dealing  with  this  phase 
or  that  of  Theodore  Roosevelt's  career  are  wide  and  deep.  Fore- 
most again  stands  his  indebtedness  to  the  subject  of  his  narrative, 
who  has,  to  the  good  fortune  of  the  present  biographer  and  all  who 
shall  succeed  him,  told  with  vigor  and  charm  of  his  adventures  in 
politics  and  in  the  wilds  of  Dakota,  Africa,  and  Brazil.    He  is  in- 


ACKNOWLEDGMENT 

debted,  furthermore,  to  the  publishers  who  gave  their  permission  for 
the  use  of  historical  material,  notably  to  Messrs.  Charles  Scribner's 
Sons  ("African  Game  Trails,"  "Through  the  Brazilian  Wilderness," 
"A  Book- Lover's  Holidays  in  the  Open,"  "The  Rough  Riders," 
and  "Outdoor  Pastimes  of  an  American  Hunter,"  all  by  Theodore 
Roosevelt);  to  The  Macmillan  Company  ("Theodore  Roosevelt: 
an  Autobiography,"  "Theodore  Roosevelt  the  Citizen,"  and  "The 
Making  of  an  American,"  by  Jacob  A.  Riis;  "Theodore  Roosevelt, 
the  Boy  and  the  Man,"  by  James  Morgan);  to  Messrs.  G.  P.  Put- 
nam's Sons  ("Hunting  Trips  of  a  Ranchman,"  "  The  Wilder- 
ness Hunter,"  "The  Naval  War  of  1812,"  "Addresses  and  Mes- 
sages," "American  Ideals,"  "The  Strenuous  Life,"  and  "African 
and  European  Addresses,"  all  by  Theodore  Roosevelt);  to  The 
George  H.  Dor  an  Company  ("Pear  God  and  Take  Your  Own  Part  " 
and  "The  Foes  of  Our  Own  Household,"  by  Theodore  Roosevelt); 
to  The  Century  Company  ("  Ranch  Life  and  the  Hunting  Trail,"  by 
Theodore  Roosevelt);  to  Messrs.  Dodd,  Mead  &  Company  ("The 
Many-sided  Roosevelt,"  by  George  William  Douglas);  to  Messrs. 
D.  Appleton  &  Company  ("The  Man  Roosevelt,"  by  Francis  E. 
Leupp) ;  to  TheHoughton  Mifflin  Company  ("  Theodore  Roosevelt — The 
Logic  of  His  Career,"  by  Charles  G.  Washburn;  "The  Life  of  John 
Hay,"  by  William  Roscoe  Thayer;  and  "Camping  and  Tramping 
with  Roosevelt,"  by  John  Burroughs);  to  Messrs.  A.  C.  McClurg  & 
Company  ("From  Rough  Rider  to  President,"  by  Max  Kullnick, 
translated  from  the  German);  to  The  G.  W.  Dillingham  Company 
("The  Rough  Riders,"  by  Edward  Marshall);  to  Messrs.  B.  W. 
Dodge  &  Company  ("The  Roosevelt  That  I  Know,"  by  Mike 
Donovan);  to  The  Chappie  Publishing  Company  ("From  the  Jungle 
Through  Europe  with  Roosevelt,"  by  John  Callan  O'Laughlin);  to 
Messrs.  John  W.  Luce  &  Company  ("Theodore  Roosevelt  as  an 
Undergraduate,"  by  Donald  Wilhelm);  to  The  Review  of  Reviews 
Company  ("A  Cartoon  History  of  Roosevelt's  Career,"  by  Albert 
Shaw).  To  the  publishers,  but  above  all  to  the  authors  of  these 
books,  and  of  certain  magazine  articles,  one  by  Lincoln  Steffens  in 
McClures',  another  by  O.  K.  Davis  in  Munsey's,  the  author  of  "The 
Boys'  Life  of  Theodore  Roosevelt"  gratefully  acknowledges  his 
indebtedness. 

H.     H. 

Sunnytop  Farm 
Fairfield,  Connecticut 

August  1$,  1918. 


The  Boys'  Life  of 
THEODORE    ROOSEVELT 


The  Boys'  Life  of 

THEODORE   ROOSEVELT 


PROLOGUE 

THIS  is  a  book  for  boys  and  girls,  for  tomboys 
and  for  men. 

Sentimentalists  and  slackers  and  folk  who  serve 
two  masters  will  find  nothing  in  it  to  appeal  to  them. 
But  lovers  of  heroic  tales  will  find  the  story,  if  not 
the  telling  of  it,  music  and  honey  to  their  hearts 
so  long  as  there  is  the  need  of  intrepid  fighters  for 
right  and  justice  in  this  world — and  that  will  be  a 
long  time. 

The  story  of  Theodore  Roosevelt  is  the  story  of  a 
small  boy  who  read  about  great  men  and  decided  he 
wanted  to  be  like  them.  He  had  vision,  he  had  will, 
he  had  persistence,  and  he  succeeded.  What  the 
final  historical  estimate  of  Theodore  Roosevelt  will 
be  we  do  not  know.  We  know  only  that  to-day  he 
is  known  not  only  to  Americans,  but  to  the  people 
of  the  four  corners  of  the  earth,  as  one  of  the  world's 
greatest  living  men.  He  is  not  a  second  Washington. 
He  is  not  a  second  Lincoln.  He  is  not  a  second 
1  i 


PROLOGUE 

Andrew  Jackson.  He  is  not  a  second  anybody.  He 
is  Theodore  Roosevelt  himself,  unique.  There  has 
never  been  anybody  like  him  in  the  past,  and, 
though  the  world  wait  a  long  while,  there  will  never 
be  any  one  like  him  in  the  future. 

For  he  has  something  of  the  Prophet  Ezekiel  in 
him  and  something  of  Natty  Bumppo,  something  of 
Hildebrand  the  valiant  warrior,  something  of  Olaf 
the  sea-king,  something  of  Cromwell,  something  of 
Charlemagne.  He  belongs  to  the  Heroic  Line,  and 
we  need  not  ask  what  those  grand  fellows  would  have 
thought  of  him. 

Theodore  Roosevelt  has  for  eight  years  been  beaten 
in  every  political  campaign  he  has  entered.  He  has 
made  mistakes  that  would  kill  and  bury  twelve 
ordinary  public  men.  He  has  been  placed  on  the 
shelf  as  a  mummy  a  half-dozen  times.  Yet  every 
word  he  speaks  is  "news";  and  when  he  goes  to  a 
health-farm  and  loses  fourteen  pounds,  the  news- 
papers carry  the  tidings,  column-long,  on  the  front 
page,  because  they  know  that  the  least  thing  that 
happens  to  "T.  R. "  is  more  interesting  to  the  aver- 
age American  citizen  than  a  diplomatic  secret  or  a 
battle.  He  is  more  conspicuous  in  retirement  than 
most  of  our  Presidents  have  been  under  the  lime- 
light of  office. 

For  Theodore  Roosevelt  is  the  epitome  of  the 
Great  Hundred  Million;  the  visible,  individual  ex- 
pression of  the  American  people  in  this  year  of  our 
Lord  1 9 1 8 .  He  is  the  typical  American.  He  has  the 
virtues  we  like  to  call  American,  and  he  has  the  faults. 
He  has  energy,  enterprise,  chivalry,  insatiable  eager- 


PROLOGUE 

ness  to  know  things,  trust  in  men,  idealism,  optimism, 
fervor;  some  intolerance ;  vast  common  sense;  deep 
tenderness  with  children;  single-minded  fury  in 
battle.  He  has  the  gift  of  quick  decision;  a  belief 
in  cutting  through  if  you  can't,  satisfactorily,  go 
around;  real  respect  for  the  other  fellow  as  long  as 
he  is  straight,  and  immeasurable  contempt  for  him 
if  he  is  crooked  or  a  quitter;  love  of  fair  play,  of 
hardship,  of  danger,  of  a  good  fight  in  a  good  cause. 
A  level-headed  winner,  a  loser  who  can  grin,  his 
glory  is  not  that  he  is  extraordinary,  but  that  he  is  so 
complete  an  expression  of  the  best  aspirations  of  the 
average  American.  He  is  the  fulfiller  of  our  good 
intentions ;  he  is  the  doer  of  the  heroic  things  we  all 
want  to  do  and  somehow  don't  quite  manage  to 
accomplish. 

He  knows  us  and  we  know  him.  He  is  human, 
he  is  our  kind,  and,  being  our  kind,  his  successes  and 
his  fame  are  somehow  our  successes  and  our  fame 
likewise. 

There  is  something  magic  about  that.  You  can 
no  more  explain  it  than  you  can  explain  Theodore 
Roosevelt.  And  you  cannot  explain  him  any  more 
than  you  can  explain  electricity  or  falling  in  love. 

You  can  only  tell  his  story,  which  we  will  now 
proceed  to  do. 


CHAPTER  I 

A   BOY   ARRIVES   AND   DISCOVERS   THE   WORLD 

IN  those  days  church  spires  were  still  the  most 
conspicuous  features  in  the  sky-line  of  New  York. 
Old  Trinity  still  looked  down  upon  the  roofs  of  Wall 
Street,  instead  of  craning  its  neck,  looking  up  at 
them,  as  to-day.  Grace  Church,  huddled  and  hid- 
den among  dry-goods  stores  and  glove-factories  at 
Broadway  and  Eleventh  Street,  in  those  days 
pleasantly  dominated  a  dignified  neighborhood  of 
stately  residences,  where  the  "best  families"  lived 
on  the  borders  of  Washington  Square. 

Canal  Street  was  the  northern  boundary  of  the 
city's  business  section.  Ladies  (in  crinolines)  went 
to  Maiden  Lane  for  their  furs;  to  Park  Row  and 
Barclay  Street  for  their  dresses.  The  newest  hotel, 
the  St.  Nicholas,  gorgeous  beyond  description,  ac- 
cording to  the  guide-books  of  the  time,  stood  at  the 
corner  of  Spring  Street  and  Broadway. 

"I  remember,"  said  the  Garrulous  Old  Party  we 
used  to  know — "I  remember  when  Gramercy  Park 
was  'way  up-town." 

That  was  in  the  'fifties. 

New  York  was  in  its  'teens  in  those  days.     There 

4 


A    BOY   ARRIVES 

were  trees  on  Broadway,  but  no  cable-cars.  There 
were  not  even'  horse-cars.  Those  ambling  con- 
veyances, known  grandly  as  the  Harlem  Railroad, 
were  confined  to  the  side  avenues — Third,  Sixth,  and 
Eighth.  Up  Broadway  and  up  Fifth  Avenue  lum- 
bered innumerable  omnibuses. 

It  was  a  small  New  York  compared  with  the 
metropolis  of  to-day.  But  there  were  dust  and 
bustle  even  then.  Old-timers  complained  that  life 
was  becoming  all  hurry  and  confusion,  and  indignant 
citizens  wrote  to  newspapers,  asking  whether  a  fare 
on  the  horse-car  did  not  entitle  one  to  a  seat.  The 
New  York  Fire  Department  about  this  time  resolved, 
"if  possible,  to  procure  a  steam  fire-engine"  and  to 
build  an  engine-house  "somewhere  between  Bleecker 
Street  and  Fourteenth." 

New  York  was  young,  ,but  it  was  beginning  to 
grow  up. 

The  Republic,  too,  was  young,  for  all  its  eighty 
years ;  but  it,  too,  was  growing  and  its  growing-pains 
were  sharp.  The  'fifties  were  a  tempestuous  and 
bitter  decade  that  began  with  Clay's  Compromise, 
which  was  supposed  to  settle  the  slavery  question 
but  settled  nothing,  and  ended  with  the  election  of 
Lincoln,  which  in  due  time  settled  a  great  many 
things.  Those  intervening  ten  years  were  years  of 
ferment.  There  was  gold  in  California;  there  were 
"Avenging  Angels"  in  Utah;  there  was  fire-and- 
sword  in  Kansas.  Everywhere  was  unrest.  Agi- 
tators abounded.  Abolitionists,  woman  suffragists, 
social  reformers  of  every  variety,  preachers,  lyceum 
lecturers,  held  forth  as  they  never  held  forth  be- 

5 


THEODORE    ROOSEVELT 

fore  and  have  never  held  forth  since.  Spiritual- 
istic mediums  flourished.  Fugitive  slaves  were 
snatched  from  their  legal  captors  and  spirited  away 
with  a  blessing.  "Society,"  in  New  York,  in  Sara- 
toga, in  Newport,  danced  and  dined  with  a  reck- 
less extravagance  unheard  of  in  this  Puritan 
Republic. 

The  'fifties  began  with  the  hope,  expressed  by 
North  as  well  as  South,  by  Democrats  as  well  as 
Whigs,  that  the  slavery  issue  was  settled,  to  be 
agitated  no  more.  But  by  1854  the  new  territories, 
Kansas  and  Nebraska,  had  rekindled  the  sleeping 
fires.  On  the  plains  of  Kansas  and  in  the  halls  of 
Congress  the  struggle  drifted  nearer  and  nearer  civil 
war.  In  the  Congressional  elections  of  1858  came 
the  first  real  test  of  strength  of  the  Republicans' 
new  anti-slavery  party.  That  summer,  here  and 
there  through  Illinois,  Lincoln  debated  with  Douglas, 
clarified  the  issues  and,  by  skilful  questioning,  made 
Douglas  commit  himself  to  doctrines  that  turned 
the  South  against  him  without  gaining  him  the  sup- 
port of  the  North. 

The  campaign  drew  to  a  close.  On  October  15  th 
Lincoln  and  Douglas,  at  Alton,  held  their  last  debate. 
On  the  25th,  at  Rochester,  Seward  made  his  famous 
"irrepressible  conflict"  speech. 

On  October  26th,  in  New  York  City,  Tammany 
Hall,  as  always  on  the  wrong  side,  enthusiastically 
indorsed  President  Buchanan  with  booming  of 
guns,  music,  a  bonfire,  and  a  half-empty  house. 
On  the  28th  Gen.  Jefferson  Davis  left  Washington 
after  an  extended  stay  in  the  North,  "charmed  with 

6 


A    BOY   ARRIVES 

his  Northern  tour,"  we  read,  "and  with  many  of 
his  ideas  of  Northern  people  changed." 

On  the  same  day,  or  thereabouts,  Grant,  a  failure 
and  sick  with  fever  and  ague  on  his  farm  near 
St.  Louis,  sold  out  his  stock,  his  crops,  and  his  farm- 
ing utensils  and  gave  up  farming. 

On  November  3d  was  Election  Day. 

Meanwhile,  in  the  midst  of  the  shouting  and  the 
excitement  of  the  last  days  of  the  campaign,  on 
October  27th,  1858,  at  28  East  Twentieth  Street, 
New  York,  Theodore  Roosevelt  was  born. 

The  baby  in  Twentieth  Street  was  two  days  old 
when  a  fusion  meeting,  of  men  of  many  parties 
opposed  to  the  drifting  policy  of  the  Democratic 
Administration,  was  held,  a  dozen  blocks  south  of 
where  he  lay,  staring  with  curious  eyes  at  the  ceil- 
ing and  four  walls  of  the  world  he  had  just  entered. 
That  meeting  would  have  rejoiced  his  soul. 

Hear  the  words  of  the  presiding  officer :  ' '  Suffrage 
is  universal.  The  duty  to  exercise  it  is  universal. 
The  consequences  of  neglecting  it,  by  men  of  right 
principles,  are  bad  government,  dishonest  and  in- 
competent public  men,  general  corruption  of  the 
public  morals,  and  national  disgrace.  In  our  elec- 
tions neutrality  and  inactivity  are  a  treason  against 
popular  government." 

They  are  ringing  words,  and  it  seems  almost  as 
though  some  spirit  must  have  borne  them  from 
Astor  Place  to  Twentieth  Street  and  whispered  them 
in  the  ears  of  the  Roosevelts'  new  baby.  For  they 
constitute,  curiously  enough,  the  very  message  which 
that  baby,  twenty-three  years  later,  and  thereafter, 

7 


THEODORE    ROOSEVELT 

in  season  and  out  of  season,  was  to  din  into  the 
ears  of  the  American  people. 

Whether  a  spirit  actually  did  do  anything  as  in- 
teresting and  important  as  that,  we  do  not  know. 
In  any  event,  the  baby  showed  no  signs  of  it.  He 
looked  around  in  what  was  to  him  the  vvorld  and, 
very  much  as  other  babies,  began  to  take  certain 
persons  and  certain  landmarks  into  his  consciousness. 

It  is  safe  to  say  that  for  some  time  his  mother 
engaged  most  of  his  attention.  She  was  a  beautiful 
woman,  a  Southerner,  whom  Theodore  Roosevelt 
the  elder  had  married  in  Georgia  four  or  five  years 
before,  when  she  was  Martha  Bulloch.  Her  people 
had  originally  come  from  Scotland,  though  there  was 
a  strain  of  Huguenot  and  English  blood  in  her  veins, 
and  had  settled  in  Sunbury,  Georgia,  about  the  mid- 
dle of  the  seventeenth  century.  Theodore  Roosevelt 
had  met  her  at  the  wedding  of  a  friend  who  had 
married  her  half-sister  at  Roswell,  the  Bulloch  plan- 
tation and  summer  home,  in  the  uplands  near  At- 
lanta. He  was  himself  as  completely  of  the  North 
as  his  wife  was  of  the  South,  a  member  of  an  old 
Dutch  family  whose  men  had  been  bankers,  alder- 
men, merchants,  and  solid  citizens  in  New  York 
City  since  the  days  when  it  was  Nieuw  Amsterdam 
and  had  five  hundred  inhabitants.  His  ancestor, 
Klaes  Martenszoon  van  Rosenvelt,  arriving  in  1644, 
had  stepped  into  the  middle  of  the  colony's  first 
political  upheaval.  The  burghers,  it  seemed,  ob- 
jected to  the  autocratic  rule  of  Kieft,  the  governor- 
general,  and  wanted  representation.  It  is  note- 
worthy that  they  got  it.     In  the  veins  of  Theodore 

8 


A    BOY    ARRIVES 

Roosevelt  the  elder  flowed  the  blood  of  fighting 
freemen,  not  only  Dutch,  for  there  was  a  Puritan  of 
Cromwell's  generation  among  his  ancestors,  to  say 
nothing  of  certain  Welsh  and  English  Quakers — 
peace-loving,  but  no  pacifists — a  number  of  Scotch- 
Irish,  an  Irishman  or  two,  and  certain  Germans  who 
fled  to  America  in  the  latter  half  of  the  seventeenth 
century  and  founded  Germantown — men  and  wom- 
en, all  of  them,  who  loved  liberty  and  refused  to  be 
oppressed. 

Theodore  Roosevelt  the  elder  had  inherited  a  re- 
spected name,  a  certain  tradition  of  public  service, 
and  a  moderate  fortune.  When  his  son  Theodore 
was  born  he  was  already  an  established  glass  mer- 
chant in  New  York,  with  an  office  on  Maiden  Lane 
and  a  spacious  house  to  live  in — a  man  who,  in  spite 
of  his  fortune  and  the  extravagance  and  frivolity  of 
the  society  into  which  he  had  been  born,  was,  at  the 
age  of  twenty-eight,  already  making  a  place  for  him- 
self in  New  York.  He  was  a  vigorous  and  courage- 
ous man,  yet  extraordinarily  tender,  gentle,  and  un- 
selfish, with  a  gift  for  making  friends  and  keeping 
them.  His  range  of  friends  was  unusual,  for  among 
them  were  bankers  and  newsboys,  ambassadors  and 
down-and-outers,  society  folk  who  rode  to  hounds 
and  little  Italians  who  went  to  Miss  Sattery's  night- 
school.  At  twenty-eight  he  already  had,  besides 
his  business,  endless  interests,  ranging  from  horses 
to  philanthropy.  He  entertained  generously,  though 
simply,  for  he  himself  loved  good  company,  and  his 
wife  was  an  exquisite  hostess  and  a  witty  and  de- 
lightful companion.     He  was  a  man  who  fulfilled  his 


THEODORE    ROOSEVELT 

duties  with  the  same  zest  with  which  he  entertained 
his  friends  or  drove  a  four-in-hand.  He  took  life 
with  great  seriousness,  but  he  took  it  laughing,  which 
means  that  to  him  all  activity,  however  difficult, 
was  a  source  of  enjoyment;  to  him  there  was  no 
such  thing  as  a  chore. 

Fort  Sumter  was  fired  on  when  Theodore,  Junior, 
was  little  more  than  a  baby.  The  war  between 
North  and  South  had  been  threatening  for  forty 
years,  and  yet,  when  it  came,  it  came  as  a  staggering 
surprise.  In  the  house  on  Twentieth  Street  the  na- 
tion's tragedy  was  symbolized,  for  Theodore  Roose- 
velt was  as  profoundly  and  whole-heartedly  for  the 
North  as  Martha  Roosevelt  was  for  the  South. 
Every  fiber  of  him  resented  slavery  and  disunion; 
all  her  traditions,  all  her  training,  on  the  other  hand, 
held  her  firmly  to  the  belief  that  slavery  was  a 
sacred  institution  and  secession  a  sacred  right.  Her 
brother  "Jimmy"  and  her  brother  Irvine,  moreover, 
had  both  joined  the  Confederate  navy.  Irvine  was 
only  sixteen  when  he  went,  and  her  mother,  left 
alone  at  Roswell,  had  had  to  come  North  with  her 
other  daughter  to  live  with  her  Northern  son-in-law. 
To  Martha  Roosevelt  they  brought  the  very  heart 
and  soul  of  the  South  with  them  to  the  house  on 
Twentieth  Street. 

It  is  a  testimony  to  the  strength  and  fineness  of 
their  spirits  and  the  depth  of  the  affection  they  held 
for  each  other  that  Theodore  Roosevelt  and  Martha 
Bulloch  should  each  have  kept  their  own  convictions 
without  wavering,  and  yet  should  have  been  able 
to  live  harmoniously  together  and  make  a  home  for 

TO 


A    BOY   ARRIVES 

their  children,  which,  from  all  accounts,  was  singu- 
larly happy.  They  were  both  blessed  with  a  sense 
of  humor;  both  wholesome-minded ;  neither  of  them 
given  to  morbid  brooding.  They  accepted  the  tragic 
situation  in  which  they  were  placed  as  they  ac- 
cepted every  other  challenge  of  life,  and,  without 
sacrificing  a  particle  of  their  convictions,  defied  mis- 
fortune. There  was  fighting  blood  on  both  sides, 
but  these  two  chose  to  strive  against  mischance 
rather  than  each  other. 

The  war,  which  came  so  poignantly  near  to  his 
father  and  mother,  passed  over  the  head  of  the 
younger  Theodore  Roosevelt  like  a  thunder-storm 
in  the  night.  In  a  sense,  he  slept  through  it.  He 
was  two  and  a  half  when  it  broke  out,  too  young  to  be 
conscious  of  the  tenseness  and  distress  in  the  house 
in  Twentieth  Street  or  the  excitement  on  the  streets. 
He  probably  saw  the  soldiers  go  down  Fifth  Avenue, 
but  they  left  no  impression  on  his  mind.  He  had  an 
elder  sister,  and  by  and  by  he  had  a  younger  brother 
and  another  sister.  In  a  stately  house  at  Broadway 
and  Fourteenth  Street  he  had  a  grandfather,  and 
roundabout  in  the  neighborhood  he  had  certain 
cousins.  His  mother's  mother,  "the  dearest  of  old 
ladies,"  and  his  mother's  sister  Anna  lived  in  the 
house  on  Twentieth  Street.  With  his  father  and 
mother,  his  grandmother,  "the  dearest  of  old  ladies," 
and  "Aunt  Annie,"  these  made  up  his  world,  and  for 
the  time  being  the  things  they  did  were  of  vastly 
greater  consequence  to  him  than  what  a  man  named 
Lincoln  was  doing  in  Washington  or  a  man  named 
McClellan  was  failing  to  do  on  the  Potomac. 

ii 


THEODORE   ROOSEVELT 

The  younger  Theodore  Roosevelt  was  joyously 
unconscious  of  the  bitter  business  that  was  engaging 
his  country;  but  his  father  was  not.  His  father  was 
in  the  midst  of  the  war  activities  from  the  very  be- 
ginning. He  would  have  made  a  good  soldier,  pos- 
sibly a  great  soldier;  and  the  active,  physical  life 
unquestionably  appealed  to  one  who,  in  a  generation 
that  was  not  given  much  to  violent  exercise,  was 
devoted  to  outdoor  sports,  and  who,  while  advising 
caution  in  others,  was  rather  fond  of  taking  risks  him- 
self. He  did  not  become  a  soldier,  for  family  reasons 
which  seemed  to  his  acute  sense  of  duty  unanswer- 
able ;  but  he  worked  tirelessly  at  home  to  help  build 
that  bulwark  of  public  support  which  is  as  essential 
to  victory  as  soldiers  and  munitions  and  food.  He 
helped  raise  and  equip  several  regiments,  among 
them  the  first  regiment  of  negroes;  he  helped  to 
organize  the  Sanitary  Commission  and  later  the 
Union  League,  an  organization  formed  in  the  face 
of  Confederate  military  successes  and  political  dis- 
affection in  the  North,  to  stimulate  and  focus 
patriotic  sentiment;  he  helped  to  organize  and  to 
carry  on  the  Loyal  Publication  Society,  which  from 
time  to  time  issued  pamphlets  aiming  to  make  clear 
the  issues  of  the  war. 

Theodore  Roosevelt  the  younger,  just  turned  three, 
saw  little  of  his  father  that  first  winter  of  the  war. 
For  his  father,  having  done  what  he  could  to  send 
soldiers  to  the  front,  had  by  that  time  turned  his 
attention  to  the  care  of  the  families  they  had  left 
behind  them.  In  many  cases  these  families  were 
starving,  and  the  money  they  should  have  received 

12 


A    BOY    ARRIVES 

from  the  husband  and  father  was  going  into  the 
pockets  of  the  sutlers  and  hangers-on  of  the  army 
camps.  Theodore  Roosevelt  went  to  Washington 
with  a  bill  to  establish  "allotment  commissions"  to 
transfer  to  each  soldier's  family  the  money  he  could 
spare  to  send  them.  Congress  passed  the  bill — 
after  a  three  months'  fight.  Theodore  Roosevelt 
was  appointed  head  of  the  commission  from  New 
York,  and  through  the  early  months  of  1862  went 
from  camp  to  camp,  visiting  each  of  the  eighty 
regiments  New  York  had  in  the  field.  There  were 
no  limousines  in  those  days.  In  storm  and  mud  and 
cold,  the  commissioners  lived  in  the  saddle  all  day, 
and  at  times  half  the  night,  through  that  bitter  win- 
ter. They  were  jeered  at  in  camp  and  opposed  at 
home,  but  they  succeeded.  The  soldiers  agreed  to 
co-operate,  and  in  New  York  alone  millions  were 
saved  for  women  and  children  who  otherwise  would 
have  starved. 

The  war  went  on.  New  Orleans  and  Antietam 
were  won ;  Fredericksburg  and  Chancellorsville  were 
lost.  Victory  came  again  with  Gettysburg.  Slowly 
the  tide  turned  in  favor  of  the  North.  And  Theodore 
Roosevelt  the  younger,  now  aged  four,  underwent, 
his  first  and  only  spanking. 

It  happened  this  way.  For  some  reason  or  other 
not  quite  clear  he  had  bitten  his  sister's  arm.  This 
was  a  crime,  he  knew,  and  he  fled  forthwith  to  the 
back  yard  and  thence  to  the  kitchen,  where  the  cook, 
who  was  Irish,  was  baking  bread.  He  seized  a  hand- 
ful of  dough  (preparedness!)  and  crawled  under  the 
kitchen  table.     A  minute  later  his  father  entered 

13 


THEODORE    ROOSEVELT 

from  the  yard,  asking  for  Theodore.  The  cook  was 
warm-hearted,  and  compromised  between  "inform- 
ing" and  her  conscience  by  casting  a  significant 
glance  under  the  table.  The  elder  Theodore  Roose- 
velt dropped  on  all-fours  and  darted  for  the  younger. 
That  fugitive  from  justice  heaved  the  dough  at  him 
and  bolted  for  the  stairway.  He  was  caught  half- 
way up  and  treated  as  on  the  whole  he  deserved. 

And  with  that  important  event  Theodore  Roose- 
velt the  younger  actively  enters  history. 


CHAPTER  II 

HE   GROWS 

WHILE  Grant  was  hammering  toward  Rich- 
mond in  the  autumn  of  1864  Theodore 
Roosevelt  celebrated  his  sixth  birthday.  He  was 
now  old  enough  to  realize  faintly  that  beneath  the 
smooth  surface  of  life  in  the  house  on  Twentieth 
Street  there  ran  cross-currents  of  divergent  opinion 
which  failed  to  wreck  the  happiness  of  the  household 
only  because  of  the  calm  good  sense  and  mutual 
affection  of  his  father  and  mother.  Mrs.  Roosevelt, 
her  sister  Anna,  and  their  mother,  Mrs.  Bulloch, . 
were  as  fervently  for  the  South  in  1864  as  they  had 
been  in  1861.  Mr.  Roosevelt  was  as  ardently  a 
Lincoln  Republican.  Mrs.  Roosevelt,  moreover,  was 
no  more  than  her  husband  one  to  support  a  cause 
half-heartedly  or  only  with  words.  Surreptitiously, 
at  intervals,  boxes  were  packed  with  certain  neces- 
sities which  were  becoming  increasingly  rare  in  the 
South.  The  Roosevelt  children  were  permitted  to 
help,  and  found  it  a  thrilling  experience,  made  more 
thrilling  still  by  the  admonition  that  their  father 
(who  probably  knew  all  about  it,  anyway,  and 
agreed  to  pretend  that  he  didn't)  must  not  be  told 
of  it.     There  were  hints  of  blockade-runners  who 

15 


THEODORE    ROOSEVELT 

should  bear  these  boxes  to  aunts  and  uncles  in 
Savannah;  and  promptly  Theodore  the  younger  in- 
vented a  game  wherein  he  was  the  blockade  (on 
one  of  the  bridges  over  the  bridle-paths  in  Central 
Park)  and  various  boys  and  girls,  mostly  cousins, 
were  the  runners.  It  is  noteworthy  that  he  took 
the  Union  side  even  there.  He  was  an  ardent  and 
vociferous  Northerner.  Once,  in  fact,  when  he  felt 
that  he  had  been  wronged  by  maternal  discipline, 
he  took  vengeance  on  his  mother  by  praying  at  her 
knee  with  loud  fervor  for  the  success  of  the  Union 
arms.  His  mother,  it  appears,  had  a  sense  of  humor 
and  was  much  amused,  though  she  warned  him  not 
to  repeat  the  offense,  under  penalty  of  being  reported 
to  the  head  of  the  family. 

The  war  ended.  A  gigantic  struggle,  which  had 
almost  shattered  the  splendid  dream  of  the  founders 
of  the  Republic,  had  broken  out,  raged  for  four  years, 
and  subsided.  To  Theodore  Roosevelt  the  younger 
it  was  just  a  rumbling  in  the  distance,  and,  now  and 
then,  a  source  of  self -questioning  why  his  father 
should  look  this  way  or  his  mother  should  act  that 
way.  The  rumblings  ceased,  the  questionings  were 
forgotten.  There  came  possibly  an  exciting  echo 
of  both  when  Uncle  Jimmy,  whose  real  name  was 
James  Dunwoodie  Bulloch  and  who  had  been  a  Cap- 
tain in  the  Confederate  navy,  came  on  a  stealthy 
visit  with  his  brother  Irvine  to  see  the  sister  who 
had  married  Theodore  Roosevelt.  They  came  under 
assumed  names,  for  they  were  noteworthy  people 
and  had  been  excepted  from  the  general  amnesty 
extended  to  those  who  had  taken  up  arms  against 

16 


HE   GROWS 

the  Union.  Uncle  Jimmy  had  in  an  English  port 
built  the  famous  Confederate  sea-raider  Alabama, 
long  the  terror  of  Northern  shipping;  Uncle  Irvine 
had,  as  a  midshipman,  fired  the  last  gun  discharged 
from  her  batteries  in  the  fight  with  the  Kearsarge. 
As  far  as  young  Theodore  was  concerned,  they  were 
like  shadows  that  came  and  were  gone. 

He  was  living  his  own  life  in  his  own  small  world. 
That  world  consisted  practically  of  nothing  but  the 
house  on  East  Twentieth  Street  and  the  house  next 
door  and  the  two  yards  (made  into  one) ;  but  as 
far  as  it  went  it  was  interesting  and  full  of  things 
to  thrill  an  inquisitive  boy.  His  father's  brother 
Robert  lived  in  No.  26.  Both  houses  had  wide 
porches  to  the  rear,  overlooking  their  own  yards  and 
the  gardens  of  the  Goelet  mansion  on  Nineteenth 
Street,  and  were  the  playground  in  which  the 
children  were  deposited  daily  in  "piazza  clothes" 
to  romp  to  their  hearts'  content.  Uncle  Robert's 
house  was  quite  extraordinarily  interesting,  for 
Uncle  Robert's  wife  had  a  taste  for  animals  of  various 
kinds,  domestic  and  otherwise.  She  had  for  a  brief 
but  exciting  period  kept  a  cow  in  the  back  yard 
(brought  thither  through  the  basement  and  the 
kitchen) ;  but  the  neighbors  did  not  encourage  her 
attempt  at  city  dairying  and  the  cow  was  forced  to 
depart  in  the  way  that  she  had  come.  There  were 
other,  less  placid  animals  on  the  piazzas  and  the 
upper  floors.  There  were  parrots  and  pheasants 
and  peacocks  and  other  birds  of  beautiful  plumage, 
and  on  the  lower  piazza  was  a  monkey  that  terrified 
the  children  of  No.  28. 
2  17 


THEODORE    ROOSEVELT 

Theodore  Roosevelt  the  elder  believed  in  work,  but 
he  believed  quite  as  emphatically  in  play,  and 
Theodore  the  younger  was  an  enthusiastic  play-boy 
from  the  start.  His  elder  sister,  whom  he  called 
"Bamie,"  was  now  ten  years  old,  a  mature  little 
lady,  and  from  his  point  of  view  (and  from  hers) 
practically  grown  up.  She  associated  mainly  with 
her  parents.  Theodore's  closest  companions  were 
his  brother  Elliott,  known  as  Ellie,  and  his  younger 
sister,  Corinne,  known  as  Conie.  There  was  another 
who  began  at  this  date  to  figure  largely  in  his  life. 
This  was  a  friend  of  Conie 's  who  lived  next  to  their 
grandfather's  house  on  Union  Square.  She  was 
three  years  old,  a  daughter,  six  weeks  older  than 
Conie,  of  a  friend  of  Mrs.  Roosevelt's;  and  her 
name  was  Edith  Kermit  Carow.  From  all  accounts 
she  was  a  nice  little  girl  and  she  liked  Theodore,  and 
included  him  in  games  of  "house"  from  which  Ellie 
was  excluded.  He  was  a  delicate  boy,  and  he  had  a 
gentle  way  with  him  which  Conie  and  Edith,  who 
were  rather  little,  gratefully  appreciated. 

Theodore  was  the  undisputed  king  of  the  nursery, 
even  though  Ellie  and  Conie,  as  they  grew,  developed 
into  the  most  "rambunctious"  of  wild  Indians  and 
he  himself  remained  delicate  and  to  all  intents  and 
purposes  a  chronic  invalid.  Almost  from  babyhood 
he  had  suffered  from  asthma;  for  years  he  could 
sleep  only  in  a  sitting  posture.  But  he  was  a  patient 
youngster  who  bore  pain  and  the  thoughtless  lack 
of  consideration  of  the  other  children  with  unusual 
self-control  and  forbearance.  He  dominated-  his 
suffering  from  the  beginning,  reading  and  playing 


HE    GROWS 

and  telling  stories  in  spite  of  it.  His  stories  were 
magical,  and  enthralled  Ellie  and  Conie  and  Edith 
and  the  various  cousins  who  gathered  in  the  nursery 
to  listen.  They  were  all  about  the  wonderful  ad- 
ventures of  people  who  lived  in  trees  and  deep  forests, 
and  were  always  "continued  in  our  next,"  sometimes 
for  months  on  end,  never  reaching  a  conclusion. 

It  was  a  small  world  in  which  he  lived — a  quiet, 
proper  world  with  few  rough  corners.  Most  boys 
spend  their  first  half-dozen  years  in  narrow  worlds 
such  as  his,  but  at  six  they  go  to  school  and  imme- 
diately the  world  for  them  expands,  taking  in  count- 
less new  individuals  each  with  his  own  particular 
circle.  Except-  for  a  few  months  at  Professor 
McMullen's  academy  on  Twentieth  Street,  within 
a  stone's- throw  of  the  house  where  he  lived,  Theodore 
did  not  go  to  school.  Because  of  the  frailness  of  his 
body,  he  was  given  no  opportunity  to  experience  the 
sharp  contact  with  boys  of  all  ages  which  school 
offers.  His  mind,  moreover,  was  not  fed  with  the 
varied  interests  that  occupy  large  groups  of  boys, 
working  and  playing  together.  It  turned  hungrily, 
therefore,  to  the  world  of  the  imagination  and  the 
world  of  books. 

Theodore's  imaginative  mind,  which  made  him  so 
wonderful  a  story-teller  and  so  satisfactory  a  play- 
mate to  Conie  and  Edith  in  their  games  of  make- 
believe,  was  a  source  of  vivid  delight,  but  also  occa- 
sionally of  acute  terror.  There  was  the  adventure 
with  that  man-eating  monster  called  the  "zeal,"  for 
instance. 

It  happened  one  day  that  he  was  playing  tag  in 


THEODORE    ROOSEVELT 

Madison  Square,  just  three  blocks  north  of  Twentieth 
Street,  a  pleasant  park  for  children  in  those  days, 
a  mile  or  more  away  from  the  business  section  of 
the  city  and  as  quiet  as  a  side-street  in  Brooklyn. 
A  Presbyterian  church  stood  on  the  east  side  of  the 
square  and  he  drifted  toward  it,  drawn  irresistibly 
by  the  spirit  of  adventure.  It  was  Saturday.  The 
sexton  was  airing  the  building,  and  the  front  portal 
was  open.  Theodore  peered  curiously,  but  cau- 
tiously, in. 

"Step  inside,"  said  the  sexton,  hospitably. 

"No,  thank  you,"  answered  Theodore. 

"Why  not?" 

The  boy  hesitated.  "I  know  what  you've  got  in 
there,"  he  said,  at  last. 

The  sexton  was  amused.  "I  haven't  got  anything 
that  little  boys  shouldn't  see,"  he  said,  encouragingly. 
"Come  on  in  and  look  around." 

Theodore  cast  a  glance  around  the  pews  and  gal- 
leries. The  spirit  of  adventure  was  struggling  within 
him  with  timidity.  But  timidity  won.  "No,  I — 
I'd  rather  not,"  he  said,  and  he  ran  over  to  the  park 
again. 

But  adventure  called.  The  open  church  fascinated 
him  and  he  returned  to  it  again  and  again.  But  he 
did  not  enter. 

He  told  his  mother  about  the  hospitable  sexton. 

"Why  didn't  you  go  in?"  she  asked. 

He  was  shy  about  explaining.  Possibly  he  was 
shy  about  exposing  his  timidity.  But  after  a  little 
urging  he  reluctantly  admitted  that  he  had  been 
afraid  lest  the  "zeal"  should  jump  out  at  him  from 

20 


HE   GROWS 

some  pew  or  other  hiding-place  in  the  shadowy 
church. 

"The  zeal?"  his  mother  asked.  "What  on  earth 
do  you  mean  by  the  zeal?" 

"Why,"  explained  Theodore,  "I  suppose  it  is  some 
big  animal  like  a  dragon  or  an  alligator.  I  went 
there  to  church  last  Sunday  with  Uncle  Robert, 
and  I  heard  the  minister  read  from  the  Bible  about 
the  zeal,  and  it  made  me  afraid." 

Mrs.  Roosevelt  turned  to  the  Concordance,  and 
one  after  another  read  the  texts  that  contained  the 
word  "zeal."  Suddenly  Theodore's  eyes  grew  big 
as  he  exclaimed,  excitedly: 

"That's  it— the  last  you  read." 

It  was  from  the  Psalms,  "For  the  zeal  of  thy  house 
hath  eaten  me  up." 

Theodore,  those  days,  was  not  taking  any  chances. 

Life,  on  the  whole,  was  not  an  undiluted  joy  for 
the  youngster  in  East  Twentieth  Street.  Time  and 
again  his  asthma  kept  him  awake  half  the  nights, 
coughing  and  trying  to  breathe.  In  those  sessions  of 
pain  his  father  was  his  most  devoted  companion,  and 
night  after  night  would  walk  up  and  down  the  room 
with  the  boy  in  his  arms,  or,  in  summer,  take  him 
driving  for  miles  through  the  countryside  in  the 
dead  of  night.  It  was  possibly  in  those  nocturnal 
vigils  that  the  boy's  affection  for  his  father  deepened 
into  a  devotion  which  the  passage  of  time  only 
strengthened. 

Theodore  Roosevelt  the  elder  was  a  man,  if  there 
ever  was  one,  to  stir  a  boy  of  seven  or  eight  to  de- 

21 


THEODORE    ROOSEVELT 

voted  admiration.  He  was  now  thirty-five,  tall, 
stalwart,  bearded,  with  the  gentleness  of  a  woman 
and  the  courage,  energy,  and  simple-heartedness  of 
a  backwoodsman;  a  man  of  universal  feeling  who 
touched  every  side  of  life.  Aunt  Anna  Bulloch 
used  to  say  that  when  he  walked  with  his  children 
he  reminded  her  of  Greatheart  in  Bunyan.  He  was, 
with  all  his  bigness,  very  human.  He  passionately 
loved  a  good  time  and  "he  could  dance  till  he  was 
dead."  A  boy  could  cuddle  up  to-  him,  moreover, 
and  pick  his  pockets  when  he  came  home  from  busi- 
ness in  the  evening,  confident  that  he  would  find 
something  put  there  to  be  discovered,  though  it 
were  such  a  strange  matter  as  a  sick  kitten,  found 
whimpering  somewhere  on  the  way  home.  Theodore 
the  younger  was  a  born  hero-worshiper.  Delicate 
boys  often  are,  especially  if  they  have  imagination. 
It  was,  therefore,  of  the  greatest  moment  to  the 
growth  of  his  character  that  he  should  have  lived 
those  early  years  so  intimately  close  to  a  man  of  such 
unquestionably  heroic  stature. 

His  father  was  his  first  and  remained  his  greatest 
hero;  but  he  began  to  read  early,  and,  from  his 
reading,  to  enlist  a  company  of  valiant  characters 
who  became  the  inspiration  of  his  day-dreams  and 
the  leaders  in  his  imaginary  adventures.  Doctor 
Livingstone's  Travels  and  Researches  was  probably 
the  first  "grown-up"  book  that  he  read,  and  he  must 
have  been  very  small  when  he  read  it,  for  it  is 
recorded  that  he  was  in  kilts  and  could  hardly  drag 
the  heavy  volume  from  place  to  place.  The  ad- 
ventures   of    this    intrepid    Englishman — explorer, 

22 


HE    GROWS 

naturalist,  and  apostle  of  Christ — woke  his  imagi- 
nation. Vague  and  unformed  aspirations  to  be  an 
explorer  and  naturalist  himself,  and  to  carry  the 
light  into  dark,  barbaric  places,  stirred  in  him.  He 
turned  to  Mayne  Reid  for  further  instruction  in 
natural  history  and  for  adventures  even  more  thrilling 
than  Livingstone's.  His  father,  seeing  the  trend 
of  his  interests,  placed  before  him  sound  and  scien- 
tific books.  Meanwhile,  simultaneously  with  Conie 
and  Edith,  he  discovered  Our  Young  Folks,  best  of 
children's  magazines,  and  devoured  Cast  Away  in 
the  Cold,  Grandfather's  Struggle  for  a  Homestead,  and 
other  thrilling  boy-and-girl  stories  which  taught  no 
lessons  in  natural  history,  but  unobtrusively  em- 
phasized certain  ideals  of  manly  conduct  to  which 
his  father  was,  in  his  friendly  way,  constantly  call- 
ing his  attention. 

Cooper,  too,  became  a  source  of  more  than  excited 
interest.  With  Natty  Bumppo  began  his  acquaint- 
ance with  the  American  pioneer,  the  hard  and  nar- 
row, but  intrepid,  indomitable,  self-reliant,  fighting 
frontiersman,  the  man  who  clears  the  forest  and, 
having  cleared  it,  pushes  westward  into  deeper 
forests,  saying  little  and  imagining  that  he  is  only 
carving  out  his  own  daily  existence,  even  while  he  is 
carving  out  a  nation.  Boone  and  Dave  Crockett 
joined  King  Olaf  and  Morgan's  riflemen  in  that 
heroic  company  which  inhabited  his  imaginings. 

Theodore  the  younger  was  during  those  early  years 
primarily  an  indoor  boy,  bright  as  a  new  dollar, 
persistent  as  a  mosquito  on  a  summer  night  when  he 
wanted  information,  but  sickly  and  nervous  much 

23 


THEODORE    ROOSEVELT 

of  the  time,  with  good  intentions,  a  will  of  his  own 
and  plenty  of  dreams,  but  with  no  more  conception 
than  any  other  boy  of  his  age  of  the  relation  of 
dreams  to  accomplishment.  He  loved  to  think 
about  great  men;  vaguely  he  wanted  some  day  to 
be  like  them;  he  wanted  certainly  to  be  like  his 
father.  Meanwhile,  he  was  a  nice  little  boy  who 
liked  books  and  animals  and  enjoyed  playing  with 
Conie  and  Edith. 

So  much,  in  general,  we  know  of  Theodore  Roose- 
velt, aged  nine. 

At  this  point,  now,  the  boy  himself  comes  out  of 
the  past  to  tell  us  about  himself.  He  comes  in  the 
shape  of  a  diary  written  in  a  cheap  note-book.  He 
kept  it  in  Barrytown,  up  the  Hudson,  the  summer 
before  he  was  ten  years  old.  For  twelve  days  he 
kept  it  steadily;  then  came  a  break  of  three  days, 
then  another  break  of  nine ;  then  two  more  attempts ; 
then  silence.  He  was  old  enough  to  feel  the  need  of 
keeping  a  diary,  but  he  did  not  yet  have  the  strength 
of  will  to  persist  at  it.  He  was  very  much  like  other 
boys  of  nine,  "going  on  ten." 

In  that  diary,  written  (rather  badly)  for  his  own 
interest  and  intended  for  no  prying  eyes,  we  see 
Theodore  Roosevelt  as  he  truly  was  that  summer 
before  he  was  ten.  And  what  he  was  was  just  a  boy, 
wholesome,  active,  loving  the  things  boys  love — 
meadows  and  brooks  and  ponies  and  birds'  nests 
and  fishes  and  candy.  He  had  a  sorrel  Shetland 
pony,  named  General  Grant  (after  whom,  Conie 
vaguely  suspected,  the  President  had  been  named), 


J'dP&ZUue^     ^^ZM  cxsn^cl 


«J*     #     -      ^ 


^cyCvTiJ        /^  ' 


THIS   AND   THE   FOLLOWING    PAGE   FROM   THE    DIARY   OF 
THEODORE    ROOSEVELT,    AGED    NINE 


I  €>-&.. 


cJu/y^J^&$^ 


HE   GROWS 

a  lovable  quadruped  with  the  queer  habit  of  always 
throwing  off  his  rider  once  as  a  preliminary  to  a 
pleasant  morning  ride.  With  him  he  rode  the  high- 
ways and  byways. 

"I  had  a  ride  of  six  miles  before  breakfast,"  he 
writes  one  day  in  August.  "I  will  always  have  a 
ride  of  six  miles  before  breakfast  now." 

There  was  evidently  endless  variety  to  the  life, 
for  there  is  a  record  of  cousins  and  uncles  and  friends 
coming  and  going.  On  the  day  he  began  his  journal 
— a  ' '  Munday ' ' — he  states  that  ' '  The  first  fig  of  our 
garden  was  eatten  that  evening  and  uncle  Jimmie 
left  us  that  evening  also."  Two  departures  in  a 
day!  A  certain  Dora  came,  a  certain  Annie  left. 
"My  coussin  Jimmie  arrived  and  brought  me  a 
christal  and  some  stones  from  Niagra  falls.  We 
played  Fort  the  rest  of  the  day."  Altogether  it  was 
an  exciting  life. 

But  it  was  not  altogether  a  play  season.  There 
is  a  significant  entry  under  date  of  August  15th: 
"All  the  morning  I  played  store  and  'baby.'  In  the 
afternoon  I  wrote,  read  and  drew.  That  afternoon 
I  received  a  continuence  of  Washington's  life." 
The  boy  who  was  playing  "kid's  games"  in  the 
mornings,  it  seems,  was  beginning  to  put  in  some 
solid  reading  of  two  and  three-volume  biographies 
in  the  afternoons. 

It  was  this  same  summer  that  Theodore  Roosevelt 
began  to  take  his  nature  studies  with  great  serious- 
ness. The  immediate  stimulus  had  been  the  dis- 
covery of  a  dead  seal,  lying  on  exhibition  in  the 
market  on  Broadway  to  which  he  was  occasionally 

27 


THEODORE    ROOSEVELT 

sent  before  breakfast  to  buy  strawberries.  The  seal, 
which  he  was  told  had  been  caught  in  the  harbor, 
thrilled  his  soul  with  memories  of  romantic  tales 
of  Mayne  Reid  and  others.  Day  after  day,  as  long 
as  the  seal  remained,  he  haunted  the  market.  With 
great  earnestness  he  even  measured  the  seal.  The 
fact  that  he  did  not  have  a  tape-measure  to  deter- 
mine its  girth  did  not  deter  him.  He  used  a  folding 
pocket-rule  instead,  making  a  careful  record  of  the 
measurements.  He  had  for  a  time  a  wild  ambition 
of  owning  and  preserving  that  seal.  That  ambition 
was  frustrated.  He  did,  however,  procure  the  skull, 
and  on  the  strength  of  it  promptly  started  the 
"Roosevelt  Museum  of  Natural  History"  with  two 
of  his  cousins. 

Scientific  investigation  took  on  a  keener  interest, 
with  the  Museum  as  a  background,  and  Theodore 
determined  to  write  a  book.  He  wrote  it  in  a  note- 
book which  was  an  exact  twin  of  the  one  in  which 
he  conducted  his  diary.  One  suspects  that  he  bought 
both  at  the  same  time — "two  for  five." 

The  title  of  the  book  is  on  the  first  page :  ' '  Natural 
history  on  insects.  By  Theodore  Roosevelt,  Jr." 
Under  it  comes  the  "Preface":    ». 

"All  these  insects  are  native  of  North  America. 
Most  of  the  insects  are  not  in  other  books. 

"I  will  write  about  ants  first." 

He  did,  and  what  he  has  to  say  about  them  is  de- 
cidedly entertaining.  "Ants  are  difided  into  three 
sorts  for  every  species.  These  kinds  are  officer, 
soilder  and  work.  There  are  about  one  officer  to 
ten  soilders  and  one  soilder  to  two  workers."     He 

28 


HE    GROWS 

tells  about  the  common  black  ant  and  the  brown 
path  ant  and  various  other  kinds  of  ants;  he  tells 
about  spiders  and  lady-bugs  and  fireflies  and 
horned  "beetlles"  and  dragon-flies  and  "misqueto" 
hawks.  "All  the  insects  that  I  write  about  in  this 
book, ' '  he  adds ,  ' '  inhabbit  North  America .  Now  and 
then  a  friend  has  told  me  something  about  them  but 
mostly  I  have  gained  their  habbits  from  of  serv-a-tion. ' ' 

The  reader  is  left  in  suspense  concerning  the  par- 
ticularly vicious  "habbits"  he  may  have  gained 
from  them  by  "of serv-a-tion." 

The  author  of  "Natural  history  on  insects"  adds 
to  his  volume  a  note  or  two  on  fishes.  There  is 
something  finely  simple  about  his  description  of  a 
crayfish.  "I  need  not  describe  the  form  of  the 
crayfish  to  you,"  he  writes.  "Look  at  a  lobster 
and  you  have  its  form."  The  minnow  is  dismissed 
with  one  or  two  generalities :  ' '  The  minnow  is  found 
in  brooks  in  the  same  parts  as  the  crayfish  and  eel. 
It  eats  worms,  catipallars,  egg,  bread,  anything  in 
fact.  It  swims  quite  swiftly.  It  is  about  seven 
inches  long  when  full  grown." 

There  are  several  illustrations  (by  the  author) 
in  the  book  and  at  the  close  this  personal  note: 

"P.  S.  My  home  is  in  North  Amer-i-ca.  All 
these  stories  were  gained  by  observation. 

"Age.     Nine  years.     Born  28th  of  October." 

The  spelling  in  this  "book"  is  picturesque,  but  the 
"of serv-a-tion,"  on  the  whole,  is  keen.  Theodore 
the  younger  was  beginning,  feebly,  uncertainly,  to 
express  in  action  the  faint  stirrings  of  ambition 
which  Livingstone's  book  had  first  awakened. 

29 


CHAPTER   III 

HE    GOES    ON    HIS   TRAVELS   AND   LEARNS   A   THING 
OR   TWO 

MRS.  ROOSEVELT'S  mother,  Mrs.  Bulloch, 
most  recklessly  indulgent  of  grandmothers, 
died  soon  after  the  close  of  the  war.  Anna  Bulloch 
married.  'The*  relief  activities  growing  out  of -the 
war  no  longer  demanded  the  elder  Theodore  Roose- 
velt's constant  attention;  his  own  business  in 
Maiden  Lane  more  or  less  ran  itself.  Theodore 
Roosevelt,  therefore,  determined  to  take  his  family 
abroad  for  a  year  of  travel  through  Europe.  They 
sailed  from  New  York  on  the  Scotia  for  Liverpool 
on  May  12,  1869. 

Theodore  Roosevelt  the  younger  was  ten  and  a 
half  years  old — "a  tall,  thin  lad,  with  bright  eyes 
and  legs  like  pipe-stems,"  as  a  fellow-traveler  on  the 
Scotia  years  after  described  him.  To  him  a  trip  to 
Europe  appeared  very  much  as  it  would  appear  to 
most  boys  of  ten  and  a  half.  A  trip  to  Africa  or  to 
China  would  have  been  a  wild  and  glorious  adven- 
ture. Very  few  people  went  to  either  place,  but  every- 
body went  to  Europe.  A  trip  to  Europe,  therefore, 
was  not  an  adventure  at  all.     It  was  a  nuisance. 

He  thought  it  was  a  nuisance  the  day  he  sailed, 

30 


HE    GOES    ON    HIS    TRAVELS 

and  he  did  not  change  his  mind.  He  was  shown 
everything  between  the  Trossachs  and  Vesuvius,  but 
it  made  no  difference.  Now  and  then  some  "sight" 
or  other  interested  him  mildly,  but  on  the  whole  he 
showed  himself  utterly  thick-skinned  to  every  point 
of  beauty  or  history.  This  was  curious  in  one  who 
was  as  sensitive  as  he  to  impressions  gained  from 
books.  He  was  homesick  the  day  he  sailed  and  he 
continued  to  be  homesick  until  the  day  he  set  foot 
again  on  American  soil. 

We  have  the  best  of  authorities  for  his  daily  doings 
and  his  state  of  mind  during  this  unhappy  year. 
For,  the  day  he  sailed,  he  made  another  brave  at- 
tempt to  keep  a  diary.  His  first  attempt,  the  pre- 
ceding summer,  had  not  been  very  successful.  After 
twelve  days  that  journal  had  petered  out.  But  in 
the  intervening  months  Theodore's  spine  had  evi- 
dently stiffened.  He  kept  his  European  diary,  with 
scarcely  a  break,  for  eight  months.  It  reveals  the 
pleasantest  little  boy  imaginable. 

He  was  seasick  on  the  way  over,  and  in  Europe  was 
evidently  ill  much  of  the  time,  suffering  from  his  old 
trouble,  but  he  never  complains,  though,  "I  was 
sick  of  the  Asthma  last  night,"  is  a  note  that  occurs 
again  and  again  in  the  diary. 

The  entry  under  date  of  June  26th  is  character- 
istic :  "In  the  morning  a  doctor  came  to  us  and  said 
my  lungs  were  perfect.  In  the  afternoon  we  went 
to  a  riding-school  and  I  was  thrown." 

On  September  26th  he  writes:  "I  was  sick  of  the 
Asthma  last  night.  I  sat  up  for  4  successive  hours, 
and  Papa  made  me  smoke  a  cigar." 

31 


THEODORE    ROOSEVELT 

At  Munich,  in  October,  he  makes  this  entry:  "In 
the  night  I  had  a  nightmare  dreaming  that  the  devil 
was  carrying  me  away  and  had  collorer  morbos  (a 
sickness  that  is  not  very  dangerous)  but  Mama 
patted  me  with  her  delicate  fingers — " 

Whether  it  was  Theodore  or  the  devil  who  had 
' '  collorer  morbos ' '  remains  unsettled.  What  is  note- 
worthy in  this  entry,  besides  the  unconscious  humor 
of  it,  is  the  boy's  charming  reference  to  his  mother. 
Throughout  this  diary  his  attitude  toward  his  par- 
ents is  unusually  tender.  He  frankly  resents  their 
dragging  him  over  Europe  when  he  would  much 
prefer  to  be  home,  but  he  takes  pains  to  point  out 
to  himself  that  (according  to  their  lights)  they  are 
trying  to  be  good  to  him. 

He  makes  this  entry  at  Vienna,  on  October  3d: 
"As  I  was  not  well  Papa  and  I  went  to  the  country. 
This  excursion  was  in  some  respects  similar  to  Hast- 
ings England.  There  were  only  2  of  us.  I  put 
myself  to  bed  with  noboddy  in  the  room.  We  had 
a  nice  walk  alone,  had  Sunday  school  out,  &c.  but 
I  did  not  enjoy  myself  so  much.  We  got  there  just 
before  dinner.  After  it  we  walked  in  company  with 
Papas  friends  (or  as  I  thought  them  enemy)  I  having 
a  miserable  time  (but  it  was  not  Fathers  fault) 
untill  we  came  home.  Then  Papa  and  I  went  a 
long  roam  through  the  wood  and  had  Sunday  school 
in  them.  I  drew  a  church  and  I  am  now  going  to 
bed." 

A  month  or  two  later,  at  Dijon,  he  writes  in  much 
the  same  mood :  "I  was  expecting  a  sociable  evening 
and  Mama  tried  to  make  it  so,  but  Papa  effectively 

32 


HE    GOES    ON    HIS    TRAVELS 

stoped  it  by  telling  me  a  french  friend  which  I  must 
have  when  we  come  back  to  Paris  and  when  I  went 
to  bed  I  cried  for  homesickness  and  a  wish  to  get 
out  of  a  land  where  friends  (or  as  I  think  them 
enemys)  who  can  not  speak  my  language  are  forced 
on  me." 

At  that  point  it  evidently  occurred  to  him  that  he 
had  possibly  been  not  quite  just  to  his  father,  for 
he  closes  the  day's  entry  with  the  remark,  "Papa 
and  Mama  both  tried  to  make  me  have  a  sociable 
time." 

There  is  no  question  about  his  devotion  to  his 
father.  At  Munich,  he  writes,  "Papa,  Mama,  and 
Bamie  went  to  an  opera  and  Father  was  more  hand- 
some than  I  ever  saw  him."  Mr.  Roosevelt  was 
evidently  put  to  it  at  times  to  entertain  his  youthful 
and  reluctant  fellow-travelers,  for  on  the  train  to 
Amsterdam,  Theodore  the  younger  relates :  ' '  Father 
told  us  such  a  nice  story  about  a  man  who  drowned 
his  wife  because  his  wife  said  his  pants  was  cut  with 
a  scisor  while  he  insisted  that  it  was  cut  with  a 
knife" — the  moral  being  that  people  who  are  stub- 
bornly fussy  are  likely  to  come  to  a  violent  end. 

The  "sights"  of  Europe  made  practically  no  im- 
pression whatever  on  Theodore  or  his  younger 
brother  and  sister.  He  scarcely  mentions  them,  in 
fact.  "At  Oxford,"  he  writes,  casually,  "we  drove 
around  it  and  saw  some  colages."  The  next  day, 
he  relates,  "We  went  to  Westminster  Abbey  and  a 
man  showed  us  the  old  tombs  and  all  that  round  the 
church."  All  he  has  to  say  of  the  Lake  Country 
is  a  word  concerning  a  climb  at  Windermere,  "The 
3  33 


THEODORE    ROOSEVELT 

view  was  splendid  on  the  top  and  it  was  very  windy 
and  I  bought  a  sweet  cracker." 

Once  there  was  a  dramatic  encounter,  which 
Theodore  records  thus:  "We  went  to  our  cousins 
school  at  Waterloo.  We  had  a  nice  time  but  met 
Jeff  Davises  son  and  some  sharp  words  ensued." 

The  thing  that  the  Roosevelt  children  evidently 
enjoyed  most,  however,  was  exploring.  At  York, 
Theodore  writes:  "Conie  and  I  went  alone  to  the 
museum  where  we  saw  birds  and  skeletons  and 
Bamie  and  I  went  in  for  a  spree  and  got  two  shillings 
worth  of  rock  candy."  At  Ouchy,  "I  took  a  walk 
around  town  investigating  matters  and  petted  a 
beautiful  black  pussey  who  as  soon  as  I  went  away 
ran  after  me  untill  I  peted  her."  At  Chamonix,  "I 
found  several  specimens  to  keep  and  we  went  on 
the  great  glacier  called  '  Mother  of  ice. '  "  (Theodore's 
French  was  a  bit  weak.)  "We  explored  the  hotel 
(Conie,  Ellie  and  I),"  he  continues,  "and  met  with 
several  cross  chambermaids." 

"We  saw  a  palace  of  the  doges,"  he  writes  in 
Venice.  "It  looks  like  a  palace  you  could  be  com- 
fortable and  snug  in  (which  is  not  usual) —  We 
went  to  another  church  in  which  Conie  jumped  over 
tombstones  spanked  me  banged  Ellies  head  &c." 

This  sounds  exciting,  and  one  wonders  with  trepi- 
dation what  unmentioned  form  of  violence  "&c" 
stands  for;  but  glorious  rough-houses  of  that  sort 
were  evidently  few,  in  church  or  out. 

We  are  fortunate  in  having  the  vigorous  Conie 's 
own  enlightening  comment  on  the  glories  of  Eu- 
rope.    She,   too,  was  writing  a  diary,  though  she 

34 


HE    GOES    ON    HIS    TRAVELS 

was  only  eight,  and  here  is  the  record  of  a  day 
in  Paris: 

' '  I  am  so  glad  Mama  has  let  me  stay  in  the  butif ul 
hotel  parlor  while  the  poor  boys  have  been  dragged 
off  to  the  orful  picture  galery." 

It  was  in  November  that  the  Roosevelts  went  to 
Paris,  but  Theodore  the  younger  did  not  find  the 
gay  city  any  more  attractive  than  Conie  found  it, 
for  the  asthma  overcame  him  again  and  he  had  to 
stay  in  bed.  "I  stayed  in  the  house  all  day,"  he 
records  on  November  26th,  "varying  the  day  with 
brushing  my  hair,  washing  my  hands  and  thinking 
in  fact  haveing  a  verry  dull  time." 

"Nov.  27.     I  Did  the  same  thing  as  yesterday." 

That  does  not  sound  exciting  at  all. 

All  that  year  he  corresponded  off  and  on  with 
Conie's  friend,  Edith  Carow,  aged  eight.  "We  boys 
and  Conie  have  some  boy  and  girl  friends  here,"  he 
writes  from  Rome,  "and  have  quite  a  nice  time  but 
we  want  to  get  home.  We  play  soilder  on  the 
Pinchen  Hill  and  Conie  was  bugler  but  is  not  now. 
We  have  six  soildiers.  I  wont  be  captain  because 
the  soildiers  sometimes  rebel,  and  somehow  the 
rebels  always  beat.  We  rebel  when  the  captain  is 
to  stern. — You  are  my  most  faithful  correspondent. 
— Ever  yours,  T.  Roosevelt." 

In  another  letter  he  remains  "Evere  your  loving 
friend."  In  fact,  during  the  time  he  was  ill  in 
Paris,  "sick  and  in  dull  spirits,"  as  he  wrote  her, 
he  conceived  a  decidedly  sentimental  feeling  for  the 
little  lady  whose  name  he  insisted  for  some  reason 
on  spelling  "Eidieth." 

35 


THEODORE    ROOSEVELT 

This  is  the  diary's  evidence  under  date  of  Novem- 
ber 2 2d:  "In  the  evening  mama  showed  me  the 
portrait  of  Eidieth  Carow  and  her  face  stired  up 
in  me  homesickness  and  longings  for  the  past  which 
will  come  again  never  aback  never." 

With  which  romantic  reflection  we  will  close  the 
record  of  Theodore  Roosevelt's  first  journey  through 
Europe. 

To  Theodore,  aged  eleven,  the  beauties  of  Naples 
and  Rome  and  Venice  and  the  historic  places  even  of 
England  and  Holland,  the  lands  of  his  ancestors, 
were  far  less  thrilling  than  the  sight  of  a  certain 
stuffed  bird  in  the  "departent  of  nests"  in  the 
museum  in  Vienna.  He  had  seen  birds  of  that  kind 
wild  at  home.  He  had  seen  no  "ancient  monu- 
ments" or  palaces,  and  he  did  not  know  what  to 
make  of  them.  The  fact  is  that  he,  who  was  pre- 
cocious mentally,  was  in  the  matter  of  true  under- 
standing slow  to  develop.  He  moved  from  discovery 
to  discovery  laboriously.  For  him  there  were  no 
leaps  forward. 

Theodore,  Ellie,  and  Conie  returned  to  America 
in  May,  1870,  as  blatantly  confident  that  America 
was  "God's  country"  and  that  Europe  was  a  degen- 
erate Old  World  which  would  shortly  be  kicked  into 
outer  darkness  by  the  New  as  any  three  spread- 
eagle  patriots  who  ever  crossed  the  sea.  Theodore 
the  younger  returned  joyously  to  his  books  and 
his  bugs  and  the  society  of  certain  cousins  whom  he 
could  safely  regard  as  friends,  since  they  spoke  his 
language.     He  went  to  school  very  little,  or  not  at 

36 


HE   GOES   ON   HIS   TRAVELS 

all,  for  his  health  was  no  better  than  it  had  been.  A 
succession  of  tutors  injected  into  him  the  fundamen- 
tals of  book-learning,  while  a  growing  intimacy  with 
his  father  gave  him  the  deeper  education  of  the  spirit. 

Father  and  son  saw  much  of  each  other  those 
years,  especially  in  the  summers  which  the  Roose- 
velts  spent  within  reach  of  New  York,  now  at 
Madison,  New  Jersey,  now  at  Dobbs  Ferry  on  the 
Hudson,  now  at  Barrytown,  now  somewhere  else, 
each  summer  in  a  different  place,  in  the  hope  that 
somewhere  they  would  find  a  spot  where  Theodore 
the  younger  might  be  freed  for  a  time  from  the 
agonies  of  his  asthma.  Mr.  Roosevelt  was  im- 
mensely fond  of  driving  a  four-in-hand  or  a  spike 
team — that  is,  a  pair  with  a  third  horse  in  the  lead — 
and,  driving  or  riding,  he  liked  to  have  his  children 
at  his  side.  Apart  from  his  recurring  periods  of 
illness — never  more  than  ten  days  apart — the  sum- 
mers were  a  delight  to  Theodore.  He  had  every 
variety  of  pet — cats,  dogs,  rabbits,  even  a  'coon, 
besides  the  pony,  General  Grant,  which  his  first 
diary  mentions.  As  he  wrote,  many  years  later, 
"the  seasons  went  by  in  a  round  of  uninterrupted 
and  enthralling  pleasures,"  for  there  were  the  haying 
and  harvesting  to  supervise,  there  were  apples  to 
pick,  there  were  frogs  and  woodchucks  to  hunt, 
there  were  nuts  to  gather.  They  played  Indians, 
building  wigwams  in  the  woods  and  staining  them- 
selves (and  their  clothes)  with  poke-cherry  juice, 
not  always  to  the  delight  of  parents  even  as  patient 
and  understanding  as  theirs. 

Meanwhile    he    was    continuing    his    studies    in 
37 


THEODORE    ROOSEVELT 

natural  history,  devoting  himself  now  not  to  "mis- 
queto  hawks"  and  "beettles,"  but  to  mammals  and 
birds.  It  was  in  the  summer  after  he  became  thir- 
teen that  his  first  gun  was  given  to  him — a  breech- 
loading,  pin-fire,  double-barrel  of  French  manu- 
facture which  had  a  reputation  of  being  as  nearly 
fool-proof  as  a  gun  can  be.  The  Roosevelts  were 
living  at  Dobbs  Ferry  and  it  was  there  that  summer 
that  Theodore  discovered,  quite  by  accident,  that 
he  was  at  a  hopeless  disadvantage  as  a  hunter;  for 
birds  which  his  friends  shot  right  and  left  he  could 
not  even  see.  Spectacles  literally  opened  an  entirely 
new  world  for  him.  Countless  beauties  which  he  had 
never  imagined  existed  stood  suddenly  revealed. 

His  work  as  a  naturalist  now  developed  from  a 
mere  boys'  pastime  into  actual  and  more  or  less 
scientific  study.  In  a  musty  little  shop  he  discovered 
a  former  companion  of  Audubon's,  a  tall,  clean- 
shaven, white-haired  old  gentleman  named  Bell,  who 
subsequently  gave  him  lessons  in  taxidermy  and 
spurred  and  directed  his  interest  in  collecting  speci- 
mens for  mounting  and  preservation.  He  had  an- 
other friend  at  that  time,  Hilborne  West,  a  connec- 
tion by  marriage  of  his  mother's,  an  intimate  of 
many  of  the  most  noted  scientists  of  his  generation, 
who  was  neither  an  original  thinker  himself  nor 
even  a  learned  man,  but  who  had  the  rare  ability 
of  explaining  in  words  of  one  syllable  the  intricate 
theories  and  discoveries  of  his  profounder  brethren. 
It  was  through  the  clear  interpretation  of  Hilborne 
West  that  Theodore  the  younger  made  his  first  ac- 
quaintance with  the  ideas  of  Darwin  and  Huxley, 

33 


HE    GOES    ON    HIS   TRAVELS 

which  were  then  shaking  the  foundations  of  science 
and  religion. 

Theodore  Roosevelt  was  now  in  his  'teens,  physi- 
cally still  "pig-chested  and  asthmatic"  and  under- 
sized, but  mentally  reaching  out  into  the  great 
dominion  of  knowledge,  a  boy  from  his  heels  up,  but 
a  studious  boy  who  took  books  with  enormous  seri- 
ousness and  was  reading  more  in  a  year  than  most 
boys  read  in  ten.  He  read  sitting  down  and  he  read 
standing  up;  at  times  even  he  read  standing  on 
only  one  leg  "like  a  pelican  in  the  wilderness"  sup- 
porting the  other  against  the  thigh  of  the  first  and 
using  it  as  a  book-rest.  His  tastes  were  liberal  and 
the  books  he  devoured  ranged  from  tales  of  the 
wildest  adventure  to  Little  Women,  An  Old-fashioned 
Girl,  and  A  Summer  in  Leslie  Goldthwaite's  Life.  He 
loved  Midshipman  Easy  and  heartily  disliked  The 
Swiss  Family  Robinson,  because  he  realized  that  it 
was  scientifically  false.  The  old  epics  thrilled  him. 
The  heroes  of  the  ballads  were  still  his  heroes.  More 
ardently  than  ever  he  wanted  to  be  like  them. 

And  then  something  happened. 

For,  one  day,  he  picked  up  the  Dramatic  Romances 
of  Browning  and  read  "The  Flight  of  the  Duchess  " ; 
and  he  had  not  read  far  before  he  came  on  a  descrip- 
tion of  a  young  duke,  a  poor  sprig  of  a  grand  line : 

the  pertest  little  ape 
That  ever  affronted  human  shape; 

and  this  was  the  duke's  ambition : 

All  that  the  old  Dukes  had  been  without  knowing  it, 
This  Duke  would  fain  know  he  was,  without  being  it. 
39 


THEODORE    ROOSEVELT 

In  other  words,  the  duke  admired  his  ancestors  and 
wanted  to  appear  to  be  like  them  without  making  any 
effort  actually  to  he  like  them. 

Those  lines  pulled  Theodore  Roosevelt  up  sharp, 
like  a  lassoo.  He  felt  that  the  resemblance  between 
that  young  duke  and  himself  was  close  enough  to  be 
disquieting.  He  felt  discovered;  he  felt  ashamed. 
He,  too,  had  had  his  heroes.  He  had  wanted  to  be 
like  those  heroes;  or  had  he  wanted  merely  to  appear 
to  be  like  them  ? 

Those  lines  made  him  unhappy.  They  pursued 
him,  taunting  him.  Then  one  day  he  suddenly  dis- 
covered that  a  new  resolve  had  taken  shape  in  him. 
There  was  no  harm  in  dreaming,  but  henceforth  he 
would  not  be  satisfied  unless,  even  while  he  dreamed, 
he  labored  to  translate  the  dream  into  action. 

That  was  a  very  important  resolve.  It  gave 
Theodore  Roosevelt  back  his  peace  of  mind  ■  and  set 
his  face  in  the  direction  of  the  highroad. 

It  was  not  long  after  this  new  resolve  had  taken 
root  in  him  that  chance  or  destiny  or  the  good  Lord, 
who  likes  to  test  the  vitality  of  the  good  resolutions 
that  boys  make,  put  Theodore  Roosevelt's  high- 
sounding  decision  to  the  test. 

He  was,  even  at  thirteen,  a  timid  boy,  as  children 
who  are  frail  physically  are  apt  to  be.  He  had  not 
had  enough  rough  contact  with  boys  to  become  ac- 
customed to  being  hurt,  and  to  give  blows  and  take 
punishment  as  a  matter  of  course;  and  his  younger 
brother  Elliott,  who  suffered  from  none  of  the  ail- 
ments which  pursued  Theodore,  had  in  consequence 

40 


fck 


AT   THREE 


AT  TWENTY-ONE  WITH  SEWALL  AND  DOW 
IN  MAINE 


THEODORE    ROOSEVELT 


HE    GOES    ON    HIS    TRAVELS 

been  his  protector  against  bullies  more  than  once. 
It  happened,  in  the  summer  of  '72,  however,  that 
certain  bullies  descended  on  Theodore  at  a  time 
when  Elliott  was  a  little  more  than  five  hundred 
miles  away. 

Theodore  had  been  suffering  more  than  usual  from 
asthma  and  had  been  sent  to  Moosehead  Lake  in 
Maine  in  the  hope  that  the  clear,  crisp  air  would 
give  him  relief.  The  last  lap  of  the  journey  was  by 
stage-coach,  and  on  the  coach  with  Theodore  were 
two  boys  who  were  not  slow  in  discovering  that  here 
was  a  victim  sent  to  them  from  on  high.  They  were 
not  really  bullies,  but  they  were  strong,  wholesome, 
mischievous  boys,  and  Theodore  was  just  a  gift  to 
them  to  break  the  tedium  of  the  journey.  They  pro- 
ceeded forthwith  to  make  him  miserable,  and  suc- 
ceeded. He  endured  their  attentions  as  long  as  he 
could;  then  he  tried  to  fight. 

He  was  plucky,  without  question.  Perhaps  he  had 
visions  of  perishing  nobly  against  overwhelming  odds. 
But  no  such  fate  was  his.  The  boys  took  him 
singly  and  handled  him  like  a  kitten.  And  the  worst 
of  it  all  was,  they  did  not  even  really  hurt  him.  They 
didn't  have  to,  he  was  so  easy  to  handle. 

Theodore  Roosevelt  spent  his  time  at  Moosehead 
Lake  thinking  this  over.  He  remembered  the  deeds 
of  the  men  he  most  admired,  the  men  he  wanted 
most  to  be  like.  And  then  he  thought  of  the  silly 
duke;  and  of  something  his  father  had  recently 
said  to  him:  "You  have  the  mind,  but  you  haven't 
the  body.     It  is  hard  work  to  build  up  the  body." 

He    remembered    certain    tiresome    exercises    his 

41 


THEODORE    ROOSEVELT 

father  had  persuaded  him  to  go  through  daily  in  the 
gymnasium  on  the  third  floor.  And  then  he  thought 
of  his  resolution. 

He  made  up  his  mind  then  and  there  that  if  he 
was  ever  to  be  anything  but  a  parody  of  the  heroes 
of  his  dreams,  he  must  first  make  himself  fit  physi- 
cally to  bear  what  they  had  borne,  to  fight  as  they 
had  fought. 

He  decided  to  take  boxing-lessons. 

This  was  a  praiseworthy  decision;  but  what  was 
really  praiseworthy  was  the  fact  that  when  he  re- 
turned to  New  York  he  confided  the  whole  matter  to 
his  father,  and,  with  the  elder  Theodore  Roosevelt's 
enthusiastic  approval,  sought  out  a  certain  John 
Long,  an  ex-prize-fighter,  and  doggedly  set  to  work. 

In  the  winter  following  his  son's  memorable  hu- 
miliation at  Moosehead  Lake,  Theodore  Roosevelt 
the  elder  took  his  family  oversea  a  second  time. 
Theodore  Junior's  health  was  giving  his  parents 
anxiety,  and  they  determined,  therefore,  to  see 
what  a  winter  in  Egypt  would  do  for  it. 

It  was  toward  the  close  of  1872  that  the  Roosevelts 
landed  in  Alexandria,  bag,  baggage,  and  taxidermy 
outfit.  At  Cairo  they  engaged  a  dahabiyeh  and  began 
a  leisurely  sail  up  the  Nile,  which  lasted  two  months 
or  more  and  proved  to  Theodore  the  younger  a  con- 
tinuous delight,  broken  only  now  and  then  by  certain 
tiresome  French  lessons  by  "Bamie,"  which  Mr. 
Roosevelt  insisted  on  in  order  that  the  younger  chil- 
dren should  during  this  play-winter  not  utterly  forget 
that  there  was  such  a  thing  as  work  in  the  world. 

42 


HE    GOES    ON    HIS    TRAVELS 

Theodore,  Ellie,  and  Conie,  on  foot  and  on  donkey- 
back,  scrambled  happily  among  ruins  that  winter, 
seeking  out  the  most  dangerous  places  as  a  matter 
of  course.  But  Theodore  did  something  besides. 
The  "Roosevelt  Museum  of  Natural  History"  had 
before  his  departure  printed  a  set  of  special  Roosevelt 
Museum  labels  in  pink  ink  and  given  Theodore  the 
younger  a  roving  commission  to  bring  home  all  the 
specimens  he  could.  He  was  not  one  to  treat  lightly 
a  commission  of  that  sort.  Morning,  noon,  and 
night  he  was  out,  terrifying  not  only  the  natives 
but  the  members  of  his  own  family,  when  he  cavorted 
hither  or  yon  on  donkey-back,  with  his  gun  at  a 
reckless  angle.  His  bird-collecting  gave  the  Nile 
journey  its  chief  zest.  He  had  picked  up  in  Cairo 
an  excellent  book  on  the  birds  of  Egypt,  and  de- 
liberately set  to  work  to  gather  something  better 
than  merely  a  boy  amateur's  collection. 

Theodore  Roosevelt  was  very  much  the  Young 
Professor  that  winter.  He  took  himself  with  enor- 
mous seriousness  and  played  the  part  of  the  ab- 
stracted and  single-minded  naturalist,  dedicated  to 
science  and  aloof  from  the  general  world  of  human 
pleasures,  as  persistently  as  his  natural  boyish 
vitality  and  love  of  a  wholesome  good  time  would 
permit.  Like  Kipling's  famous  Cat,  he  walked  by 
his  "wild  lone."  There  was  something  of  Don 
Quixote  about  him  during  that  period,  especially 
when  he  was  on  donkey-back  charging  toward  a 
"specimen,"  seeing  the  specimen  and  nothing  else  in 
heaven  or  on  earth.  The  fact  that  he  suddenly 
began  to  grow  that  winter  and  was  bulging  out  of  his 

43 


THEODORE    ROOSEVELT 

clothes  in  all  directions  long  before  the  dahabiyeh 
could  return  to  Cairo,  where  tailors  were,  distinctly 
added  to  his  bizarre  appearance.  He  saved  himself 
from  being  a  joke  mainly  because,  with  all  his  queer- 
ness,  he  was  such  good  company  and  so  absolutely 
square,  and  had  such  a  reliable  sense  of  humor 
besides. 

The  Roosevelt  family  went  from  Egypt  to  the 
Holy  Land,  and  thence  to  Constantinople  and 
Greece,  and  finally  Vienna,  where  the  elder  Theodore 
Roosevelt  had  official  duties  as  American  Com- 
missioner sent  by  President  Grant  to  the  Interna- 
tional Exposition.  Everywhere,  Theodore  the 
younger  collected  specimens.  That  was  all  very 
nice  for  Theodore  and  did  not  bother  the  family. 
But  wherever  he  went  he  also  dissected  specimens 
and  followed  the  vocation  of  taxidermist. 

A  taxidermist,  as  any  one  who  has  had  experience 
will  admit,  is  bad  enough  in  his  place,  his  place  being 
a  dingy  shop  well  removed  from  the  paths  of  human 
travel.  The  trouble  with  Theodore  was  that  his 
taxidermy  laboratories  were  the  hotel  bedrooms 
which  he  shared  with  his  brother  Elliott. 

It  happened  in  Vienna  one  day  that  Elliott,  who 
happened  to  be  the  neatest  and  most  particular  of 
mortals,  came  to  his  father  with  a  rather  woebegone 
expression. 

"Father,  do  you  think  it  would  be  extravagant," 
he  inquired,  "if  I  were  now  and  then  to  have  a  room 
to  myself  in  hotels?" 

"I  suppose  not,  if  you  really  wish  it,"  said  Mr. 
Roosevelt.     "But  why?" 

44 


HE    GOES    ON    HIS    TRAVELS 

Elliott  did  not  try  to  explain.  "Come  and  see  our 
room,"  he  said. 

Mr.  Roosevelt  did.  There  were  bottles  on  the 
tables  and  the  chairs;  there  were  bottles  on  the 
mantel  and  the  wash-stand.  Clothes  were  every- 
where where  they  happened  to  fall  and  in  the  basin 
were  the  entrails  of  animals  recently  deceased. 

What  Mr.  Roosevelt  said  and  did  about  Elliott's 
rebellion  has  not  come  down  to  us.  He  was  evi- 
dently unable  to  do  much  with  Theodore  at  the 
moment,  for  it  is  recorded  that  Theodore  remained 
"grubby"  for  some  time  to  come.  Theodore  was 
intent  on  scientific  investigation,  and  neither  his 
father's  admonitions  nor  his  brother's  appeals  could 
swerve  him  from  what  he  conceived  to  be  the  path 
of  duty. 

There  was  something  ruthless  in  his  persistence. 
He  had  a  tender  heart,  an  affectionate  nature.  He 
loved  his  father  with  a  devotion  such  as  he  never 
gave  again  to  any  other  man ;  he  was  deeply  attached 
to  his  exquisite  Southern  mother.  And  yet,  when 
he  saw  before  him  a  goal  to  be  attained,  he  disre- 
garded even  them.  There  was  about  him  an  almost 
terrible  single-mindedness.  He  saw  the  goal  and 
nothing  else.  If  it  seemed  to  him  necessary  to  the 
interests  of  science  to  keep  defunct  field-mice  in  the 
family  refrigerator,  he  kept  them  there ;  if  it  seemed 
to  him  important  to  house  a  snake  or  two  in  the 
guest-room  water-pitcher,  the  possible  emotions  of 
a  guest  discovering  them  there  did  not  enter  into 
consideration.  He  felt  it  his  duty  to  study  field- 
mice  and  snakes  and  that  was  all  there  was  about  it. 

45 


THEODORE    ROOSEVELT 

"My  boy,  my  boy,"  said  his  mother,  not  without 
apprehension,  "you  are  a  little  berserker." 

Which  means  that  in  certain  respects  Theodore 
Roosevelt  the  younger  was,  at  fourteen,  with  all  his 
natural  tenderness  and  charm,  something  of  a 
savage. 

In  the  spring  of  '73  Mr.  Roosevelt  returned  to 
New  York.  Mrs.  Roosevelt  and  "Bamie"  went  to 
Carlsbad,  "where  Mrs.  Roosevelt  was  to  take  the 
cure,  and  the  other  children  were  left  with  a  German 
family  in  Dresden.  Their  cousins,  Maud  and  John 
Elliott,  were  living  in  Dresden  with  their  mother, 
and  with  them  the  Roosevelt  children  formed  the 
"Dresden  Literary  American  Club."  This  "club" 
possessed  a  copy-book  in  which  once  a  week  each 
member  of  the  society  entered  his  or  her  contribu- 
tion. In  this  copy-book  his  cousin,  Maud  Elliott, 
aged  eleven  or  thereabouts,  wrote  a  story  called 
"The  Birthday,"  of  which  Theodore  was  the  rather 
dubious  hero ;  her  description  of  him  sounds  accurate. 

Well,  my  dear  little  friends  [she  writes]  I  must  tell  you  some- 
thing about  Theodore  you  know  he  was  a  naturalist  on  a  small 
scale,  he  was  a  very  amusing  boy  but  he  had  a  great  fault  he 
was  very  absent  minded  so  much  so  that  whenever  his  Mother 
would  tell  him  to  go  and  do  something  for  her  he  would  say 
"Oh  yes  you  pretty  little  thing"  but  instead  of  doing  it  directly 
he  would  go  and  skin  his  birds  or  something  that  he  took  into 
his  head  to  skin,  and  then  he  always  thought  that  he  could  do 
things  better  than  anyone  else. 

Theodore,  Ellie,  and  Conie  spent  three  months  or 
more  in  Dresden,  in  the  family  of  an  alderman  and 
member  of  the  Reichstag,  Doctor  Minkwitz,  whose 

46 


HE    GOES    ON    HIS    TRAVELS 

daughter  undertook  to  teach  them  German.  To 
Theodore  the  life  in  the  house  of  these  typical  Ger- 
mans, who  were  a  little  stiff  and  formal,  but  end- 
lessly patient  and  kind,  had  extraordinary  charm. 
He  had  difficulties  with  the  language,  but  he  felt 
at  home  in  no  time  and  promptly  took  up  his  es- 
tablished round  of  existence,  which  included  hedge- 
hogs and  reptiles  of  all  sorts  and  taxidermy  and 
pleasant  walks  through  what  was  known  as  Saxon 
Switzerland.  He  found  the  sons  of  his  host,  who 
were  corps-students,  curious  and  fascinating.  One 
of  them  was  a  noted  swordsman  and  was  called  Der 
rote  Herzog  (the  Red  Duke) ;  another  had  had  the  tip 
of  his  nose  cut  off  in  a  duel  and  sewn  on  again  and 
was  subsequently  known  as  Hcrr  Nasehom  (Sir 
Rhinoceros).  He  liked  these  heroes  of  the  student 
world.  There  was  an  old  painter  named  Wegener 
who  gave  him  drawing-lessons  and  held  wise  and 
friendly  discourses  on  their  rambles  through  the 
neighboring  hills.  But  besides  these  his  German 
acquaintances  were  few,  for  he  was  constantly  suf- 
fering from  asthma  and  frequently  found  conversa- 
tion difficult.  He  was,  therefore,  thrown  all  the 
more  intimately  into  the  companionship  of  books. 

It  was  this  summer  that  he  first  read  the 
Nibelungenlied. 

The  gorgeous  old  epic  made  a  profound  impres- 
sion upon  him.  Instantly  Rudiger  and  Hagen, 
Hildebrand  and  Dietrich  von  Bern  became  heroes  of 
his  imagination  beside  the  heroes  of  the  Norse  sagas 
and  the  epics  of  Greece.  The  intrepid  courage  of 
men  who  could  face  life  and  face  death  calmly  and 

47 


THEODORE    ROOSEVELT 

with  clear  eyes,  rating  life  not  too  highly  in  the 
balance  with  what  they  deemed  justice,  set  quiver- 
ing every  aspiration  in  his  heart.  The  fierce  gran- 
deur of  the  song  kindled  his  blood;  and  his  spirit 
unawares  took  over  some  of  the  primitive  battle 
ardor  of  it,  and  made  it  its  own. 

The  Roosevelts  returned  to  America  that  autumn 
and  Theodore  immediately  set  to  work  to  prepare 
seriously  for  college.  His  education  had,  owing  to 
his  frequent  illnesses,  been  so  haphazard  that,  while 
he  was  far  ahead  of  his  age  in  certain  subjects, 
he  was  hopelessly  behind  in  others.  His  sister 
"Bamie,"  now  eighteen,  and  Theodore's  unofficial 
guardian,  secured  a  tutor  for  him,  and  Theodore, 
who  would  have  much  preferred  to  run  wild  among 
"specimens,"  gritted  his  teeth  and  resigned  himself 
to  the  agonies  of  Latin  and  mathematics. 

Theodore  the  younger  was  now  fifteen,  a  slender 
boy  with  glasses,  gifted,  alert,  energetic,  dreaming 
deeply,  but  increasingly  aware  of  the  struggle  it  is 
to  translate  dreams  into  reality.  He  was  an  un- 
usual boy,  but  he  was  in  no  sense  a  genius.  Physi- 
cally he  was  decidedly  below  the  average;  mentally 
he  was  bright  but  by  no  means  brilliant.  He  had  a 
good  memory  and  unusual  power  of  concentration; 
and  he  liked  books.  In  that  fall  of  1873  there  were 
probably  scattered  over  the  United  States  hundreds 
of  boys  fifteen  years  old  more  gifted  than  he.  What 
Theodore  Roosevelt  hagl,  which  most  of  the  others 
had  not,  was  a  deep  hunger  to  excel,  to  be  of  the 
fellowship  of  the  doers  of  great  deeds.  With  it, 
vague   at   first   but   increasingly   clear,    came    the 


HE    GOES    ON    HIS    TRAVELS 

recognition  that  men  attain  only  through  endless 
struggle  against  the  sloth,  the  impurity,  the  fears, 
the  doubts,  the  false  content  in  their  own  hearts. 
He  determined  to  build  up  for  himself  a  clean, 
valiant,  fighting  soul. 

This  was  not  an  easy  undertaking.  He  had  lofty 
impulses  and  the  best  of  intentions ;  he  was  naturally 
religious;  he  was  singularly  pure-minded;  but  he 
was  still  timid.  A  sea-captain  in  one  of  Marryat's 
novels  helped  him  here;  for  this  captain  admits  to 
a  frightened  midshipman  that  once  he,  too,  was 
afraid.  But  he  had  determined  at  least  to  appear 
unafraid— and,  though  he  was  not  brave,  at  least 
to  act  as  though  he  were.  And  after  a  while  he 
had  actually  become  that  which  at  first  he  had  only 
feigned. 

Theodore  Roosevelt  took  that  sea-captain's  les- 
son to  heart. 

While  he  was  developing  the  muscles  of  his  spirit, 
Theodore  Roosevelt  was  with  no  less  persistence 
developing  the  muscles  of  his  body.  He  was  not 
a  natural  athlete,  but  by  dint  of  steady  work  he 
gradually  became,  not  a  champion,  even  among 
boys  of  his  own  age,  but  an  average  boxer  able  in 
an  emergency  to  defend  himself  even  against  oppo- 
nents physically  more  powerful  than  himself.  Once, 
in  a  series  of  "championship"  matches  held  by  his 
teacher,  the  ex-prize-fighter,  he  did  win  a  pewter 
cup  in  the  light-weight  contest.  That  was  not 
much,  but  Theodore  thought  that  it  was  decidedly 
better  than  being  tossed  about  like  a  fuzzy  rabbit 
by  a  couple  of  boys  at  Moosehead  Lake. 

4  49 


THEODORE    ROOSEVELT 

He  boxed  and  wrestled  in  the  winters,  and  in  the 
gymnasium  of  the  new  house  at  6  West  Fifty-seventh 
Street,  into  which  the  Roosevelts  had  moved  after 
their  return  from  Europe  in  the  autumn  of  '73, 
chinned  himself  and  struggled  with  the  parallel  bars 
patiently  day  after  day.  He  saw  clearly  what  few 
boys  of  his  age  ever  see  at  all — that  if  you  intend 
to  build  high  you  must  first  build  deep. 

It  was  in  the  summer  of  '74  that  Mr.  Roosevelt 
leased  a  rambling  old  house  at  Oyster  Bay,  which 
was  subsequently  known  as  "Tranquillity."  His 
brothers  had  already  established  themselves  on  land 
near  by,  and  thereafter  the  numerous  cousins  spent 
their  vacations  hunting,  exploring,  and  cheerfully 
risking  their  necks  in  and  about  the  woods  and  waters 
of  Long  Island's  north  shore.  Theodore  hunted  and 
collected  specimens  with  the  same  persistence  he  had 
shown  in  Egypt,  but  with  growing  knowledge  and 
insight.  He  studied  the  flowers,  and  the  songs  of 
birds  began  to  have  for  him  the  deeper  significance 
they  have  for  those  who  know  the  life-story  of  each 
unseen  singer.  He  was  unusual,  inasmuch  as,  with 
all  his  passion  for  science,  he  had  a  profound  feeling 
for  beauty.  The  outdoor  world  stirred  and  stimu- 
lated not  only  his  intellect,  but  his  spirit;  and  his 
spirit,  imaginative  and  audacious,  soared  to  new 
mountain-tops  looking  for  new  worlds  to  conquer. 


CHAPTER  IV 

HE   SEEKS   OUT  WISE   FOLK  OF  VARIOUS   SORTS,   WITH 
VARYING    RESULTS 

TILDEN  was  running  for  President  against 
Hayes,  and  the  contest  was  close  and  hot. 
Everybody  who  could  make  a  speech  was  making 
several  from  the  tails  of  carts;  and  everybody  who 
couldn't  make  a  speech  was  at  least  parading. 
The  Harvard  Freshmen  in  the  fall  of  1876  paraded. 
They  could  none  of  them  vote,  but  they  could  make 
a  great  deal  of  noise,  which  is  supposed  to  be  the 
next  best  thing. 

The  Republicans  among  them,  armed  with  flicker- 
ing oil-torches  which  ruined  their  overcoats,  marched 
to  Boston  one  night.  They  were  proceeding  en- 
thusiastically down  a  Cambridge  street  when  a 
second-story  window  was  flung  open  and  a  Tilden 
supporter  bawled  out,  "Shut  up,  you  blooming 
Freshmen!" 

That  was  pretty  bad,  but  he  also  threw  a  potato, 
which  was  even  more  serious.  The  paraders  were 
indignant,  and  one  wiry  youngster  with  glasses  flung 
down  his  torch  furiously  and  shook  his  fist  at  the 
second-story  malefactor  with  a  whole-hearted  anger 
that  was  good  to  see. 

51 


THEODORE    ROOSEVELT 

One   of  his   classmates   turned   to   his   neighbor. 
"Who's  that  man?"  he  asked. 

"That?     Oh,  that's  Theodore  Roosevelt,  of  New 
York." 

It  was  thus,  some  six  weeks  after  he  had  dropped 
off  the  car  at  Harvard  Square  to  enter  upon  the  life 
of  a  Harvard  undergraduate,  that  Theodore  the 
younger,  just  eighteen,  made  his  first  impression  on 
his  classmates.  That  impression  deepened,  for  his 
indignation  in  the  face  of  what  he  considered  unjust 
treatment  of  a  good  cause  was  characteristic,  and 
the  enthusiastic  energy  he  put  into  it  was  sufficiently 
rare  to  be  conspicuous.  His  classmates  decided  that 
he  was  worth  knowing,  for  he  was  "different." 
.  There  was  no  question  about  his  being  "different." 
He  was  at  eighteen  much  the  same  intense,  single- 
minded  youth  he  had  been  in  Egypt  three  years 
previous,  even  to  his  absent-mindedness.  Just  be- 
fore leaving  Oyster  Bay,  to  go  to  Cambridge,  he  had, 
for  instance,  put  a  price  on  field-mice,  which  had 
become  a  pest — five  cents  apiece,  a  quarter  for  a 
family.  Then  he  had  promptly  forgotten  the  matter 
and  gone  to  college,  leaving  to  "Bamie,"  his  coun- 
selor and  friend,  the  pleasant  task  of  receiving  and 
paying  for  the  flood  of  field-mice  that  began  to  pour 
in.  His  asthma,  moreover,  was  still  with  him  at 
intervals,  and  the  agonies  which  he  could  share  with 
no  one  demanded  a  constant  self-discipline  which 
deepened  his  character.  He  was  the  best  sort  of 
companion,  and  yet  he  was,  in  the  high  sense  of  the 
word,  self-sufficient;  he  made  his  own  world.  He 
could  associate  most  amicably  and  delightfully  with 

52 


HE    SEEKS    OUT    WISE    FOLK 

congenial  acquaintances;  no  one  loved  a  good  time 
more  than  he.  But  he  could  also  withdraw  himself 
into  his  own  personal  world  abruptly  and  com- 
pletely, leaving  his  friends  vaguely  wondering  what 
had  happened  to  Theodore.  He  permitted  his 
friends  to  go  just  so  far,  and  no  farther.  Nothing 
was  said,  but  suddenly  there  was  a  closed  door  bar- 
ring the  way  that  led  to  his  inmost  being.  What 
was  behind  that  door  he  revealed  to  no  one.  Per- 
haps he  scarcely  knew  himself. 

Theodore  Roosevelt  came  to  Harvard  with  half 
his  college  career  made  in  advance.  As  a  member 
of  one  of  the  oldest  Knickerbocker  families,  he  was 
predestined  to  certain  societies  and  clubs  (for  Har- 
vard was  less  democratic  then  than  she  is  now)  and 
in  due  time  belonged  to  the  best  of  them,  the  In- 
stitute of  1770,  the  "Dickie,"  the  A.  D.,  the  "Pork," 
the  Signet,  and  the  "Pudding."  None  of  them  in- 
terested him  greatly,  for  he  had  not  gone  to  college 
for  social  purposes. 

He  had  gradually  come  to  the  conclusion  that  he 
wanted  to  be  a  professor  of  natural  history.  His 
father  had  not  greeted  this  decision  with  enthusiasm, 
for  he  recognized  in  Theodore  the  younger  qualities 
which,  in  his  judgment,  demanded  a  wider  field  for 
expression  than  that  of  the  college  professor  or  the 
scientific  investigator.  But  he  was  not  the  man  to 
impress  his  personal  judgment  on  his  children,  and 
gave  his  consent  to  Theodore's  choice  of  a  career, 
stipulating  only  that  Theodore  make  up  his  mind  to 
be  a  thorough  scientist  or  none  at  all,  for  he  had  an 
abhorrence  for  the  mere  amateur.     Theodore  him- 

53 


THEODORE    ROOSEVELT 

self  did  not  think  much  of  people  who  did  things  by 
halves. 

He  began  his  college  life,  therefore,  with  a  certain 
advantage  over  the  majority  of  his  classmates;  for 
he  knew  exactly  what  he  wanted  to  do.  He  took 
rooms,  accordingly,  not  in  a  dormitory  (where  work, 
he  knew,  would  be  difficult),  but  in  a  private  house 
at  1 6  Winthrop  Street,  and  there,  surrounded  by  birds 
and  beasts  he  had  shot  and  stuffed,  and  sundry 
animals  on  whom  he  had  as  yet  committed  neither 
offense — a  monstrous  live  turtle,  for  instance,  a 
snake  or  two,  and  now  and  then  an  armful  of  bad- 
tempered  lobsters — he  lived  his  whole  four  years. 

Most  of  his  classmates  thought  Theodore  Roose- 
velt slightly  "queer";  but  it  occurred  to  no  one  to 
call  him  a  "grind."  For  a  grind  is  a  poor  worm 
that  bores  day  and  night  in  books  and  knows  no 
other  world;  and  Theodore  Roosevelt  was  active, 
if  not  prominent,  in  every  phase  of  undergraduate 
life.  He  was  not  only  a  member  of  clubs ;  he  started 
one  of  his  own,  for  the  existing  clubs  seemed  to  him 
too  aristocratic  and  snobbish. 

He  had  endless  enthusiasm  for  an  almost  endless 
variety  of  matters.  He  was  a  member,  and  in  his 
Senior  year,  undergraduate  head,  of  the  Natural 
History  Society,  which  was  flourishing  under  the 
presidency  of  that  rare  and  valiant  man,  Nathaniel 
Southgate  Shaler,  professor  of  geology,  poet,  scien- 
tist, and  veteran  of  Gettysburg.  The  Art  Club 
heard  him  discoursing  at  Charles  Eliot  Norton's 
pleasant  "Shadyside";  the  Rifle  Club  saw  him 
practising  target-shooting  at  the  Watertown  Arsenal. 

54 


HE    SEEKS    OUT    WISE    FOLK 

He  organized  a  Finance  Club,  to  study  currency 
systems  here  and  abroad ;  he  read  papers  on  politics 
before  the  " O.  K "  Society;  he  started  the  movement 
that  led  to  the  institution  of  track  meets  between 
Yale  and  Harvard;  he  wrote  the  first  chapters  of  a 
notable  book  on  the  War  of  1812. 

With  all  this,  he  was  elected  to  Phi  Beta  Kappa, 
which  honors  only  those  who  are  leaders  in  under- 
graduate scholarship;  he  was  an  editor  of  the 
Harvard  Advocate  and  an  active  officer  in  at  least  a 
half-dozen  organizations;  he  taught  Sunday-school 
(and  was  requested  to  resign  from  one  church  be- 
cause he  had  given  a  boy  a  dollar  as  a  consolation 
for  a  black  eye  received  in  defending  his  sister) ;  he 
drove  a  trap,  gaily,  badly,  and  often;  he  rowed;  he 
boxed;  he  ran;  he  wrestled;  he  hunted  in  Maine; 
he  danced  in  Chestnut  Hill;  he  acted  in  a  comic 
opera;  he  inspired  the  whole  Senior  class  with  a 
sudden  passion  for  skipping  rope. 

He  was  not  especially  brilliant  at  any  of  these 
things.  But  he  put  into  each  one  of  them  every 
ounce  of  energy,  ability,  and  enthusiasm  which  he 
had,  and  consequently  in  some  cases  did  them  bet- 
ter than  men  more  gifted  by  nature  than  he. 

Meanwhile  he  found  time  for  measles  and  for 
recurrent  attacks  of  his  old  enemy,  asthma;  and, 
most  important  of  all,  for  a  new  and  deepening 
friendship  with  a  girl  a  year  or  two  younger  than 
himself  who  lived  in  Chestnut  Hill. 

Between  his  eighteenth  year,  when  he  entered 
college,  and  his  twenty-second,  when  he  graduated, 
Theodore  Roosevelt  grew  from  a  shy  and  timid  boy, 

55 


THEODORE    ROOSEVELT 

frail  in  body,  into  a  vigorous  and  determined  man. 
Into  those  four  years  he  crowded  the  natural  growth 
of  ten,  for  from  the  very  beginning  he  had  a  goal  in 
view.  For  him  there  was  no  groping,  no  stumbling 
about  in  blind  alleys,  no  wasting  of  time  and  strength 
in  the  pursuit  either  of  false,  enervating  pleasures  or 
of  vague  social,  political,  and  religious  theories.  He 
knew  exactly  what  he  wanted. 

He  wanted  to  become  a  man  who  did  things. 

That  was  his  goal.  He  had  seen  it  clearly  from  his 
fifteenth  year,  and  with  ever-increasing  clearness 
he  saw  the  road,  the  only  road,  that  led  to  it.  The 
name  of  that  road  was  Work.  He  worked  to  build 
up  his  body,  not  for  the  sake  of  mere  bodily  strength ; 
he  worked  to  build  up  his  mind,  not  for  the  sake  of 
mere  mental  agility;  but  both  together  as  muscle 
and  sinew  for  that  spiritual  power  which  constitutes 
the  backbone  of  great  men. 

Exactly  what  it  was  that  he  wanted  to  do  he  did 
not  yet  know.  The  desire  to  become  a  natural 
scientist  evaporated  as  his  college  experience  taught 
him  what  such  a  career  would  mean.  Scientific  in- 
vestigation, he  found,  meant  in  those  days  labora- 
tory work  and  the  microscope,  and  these  only;  for 
the  faunal  naturalist  and  observer  of  nature  there 
was,  it  seemed,  no  place  in  the  world  of  science. 
The  idea  of  spending  his  life  peeking  into  a  microscope 
was,  for  Theodore  the  younger,  too  absurd  to  be 
considered.  He  decided  that  the  life  of  a  professor 
was  not  for  him. 

This  decision,  meanwhile,  in  no  way  affected  the 
main  object  of  his  life,  which  was  to  make  himself  a 

56 


HE    SEEKS    OUT    WISE    FOLK 

man  as  vigorous  in  body  as  he  was  alert  in  mind. 
There  were  few  forms  of  athletic  sport  with  which, 
during  these  years,  he  failed  in  some  way  to  asso- 
ciate himself ;  but  he  was  most  active  as  a  boxer  and 
wrestler.  He  excelled  in  neither,  but  his  indomi- 
table spirit  carried  him  far  in  both.  He  was  plucky, 
moreover;  he  took  punishment  with  a  grin,  and  he 
was  a  good  sport. 

Once,  for  instance,  in  the  middle  of  a  hot  bout, 
time  was  called.  He  promptly  dropped  his  hands, 
but  his  opponent  did  not.  That  young  man  drew 
back  and  struck  him  square  on  the  nose.  There 
were  some  classmates  watching,  and  an  indignant 
roar  of  ' '  Foul !     Foul ! ' '  arose. 

Roosevelt,  his  face  covered  with  blood,  ran  to  the 
referee.  Above  the  noise  of  the  angry  protests  his 
voice  could  be  heard  shouting:  "Stop!  Stop! 
He  didn't  hear!     He  didn't  hear!" 

Whether  the  other  man  really  hadn't  heard,  and 
whether  Roosevelt  really  thought  he  hadn't  heard 
or  was  merely  giving  him  the  benefit  of  the  doubt, 
we  shall  probably  never  know.  But  the  rumpus 
subsided.  Theodore  the  younger  shook  hands  heart- 
ily with  his  opponent,  resumed  hostilities,  and  gave 
him  the  drubbing  of  his  life. 

There  was  another  fight,  a  more  formal  affair. 
Theodore  the  younger  had  won  his  way  to  the  finals 
in  the  light-weight  sparring-contest,  and  was  matched 
at  last  with  a  certain  "Mr.  Hanks."  That  gentle- 
man seems  to  have  defeated  him,  but  not  without 
some  difficulty. 

"It  was  no  fight  at  all,"  said  one  of  his  classmates, 

57 


THEODORE    ROOSEVELT 

describing  the  bout.  "Hanks  had  the  longer  reach 
and  was  stronger,  and  Roosevelt  was  handicapped 
by  his  eyesight.  You  should  have  seen  that  little 
fellow  staggering  about,  banging  the  air.  Hanks 
couldn't  put  him  out  and  Roosevelt  wouldn't  give 
up.  It  wasn't  a  fight,  but,  oh,  he  showed  himself  a 
fighter!" 

Many  forces,  besides  time,  operate  to  make  a  boy 
into  a  man.  In  the  case  of  Theodore  the  younger 
the  guiding  force  was  his  own  spirit,  with  one  hand 
fighting  bodily  weakness,  fighting  timidity;  and 
with  the  other  plunging  enthusiastically  into  the 
midst  of  life,  as  into  a  gigantic  grab-bag,  for  every 
wholesome  pleasure  and  peril  it  contained. 

Yet  there  were  other  forces.  One  was  the  joyous 
circle  of  girls  and  boys  in  Chestnut  Hill  and  that 
new  friend  who  was  its  radiant  center. 

Another  was  a  backwoodsman  of  Aroostook 
County,  bearded,  and  six  foot  four. 

That  new  friend's  name  was  Alice  Lee. 

The  backwoodsman's  name  was  Bill  Sewall. 

They  were  not  at  all  alike.  But  they  were 
destined  both  to  play  a  great  part  in  the  building  of 
his  manhood. 

It  was  during  the  winter  of  his  Freshman  year  in 
college  that  Theodore  the  younger  first  met  Bill 
Sewall.  His  tutor,  Arthur  Cutler,  had  "discovered" 
Sewall  the  year  previous  on  a  hunting  trip  with 
Theodore's  cousin,  Emlen  Roosevelt,  and  had  urged 
Theodore  to  run  up  to  Island  Falls  with  him  as 
much  for  the  privilege  of  knowing  Bill  Sewall  as  for 

58 


HE    SEEKS    OUT    WISE    FOLK 

the  hunting.     For  Bill  Sewall,  he  said,  was  a  man  to 
know. 

Theodore  found  him  all  that  Cutler  had  described, 
and  more.  He  was  a  great,  stalwart  man  of  thirty- 
three  or  so,  with  a  vigorous,  reddish-brown  beard; 
warm,  friendly  eyes,  that  flashed  on  occasion;  enor- 
mous physical  strength;  an  alert  mind;  an  indomi- 
table spirit.  Theodore  himself  was  eighteen,  thin, 
pale,  asthmatic,  outwardly  the  typical  "city  feller." 
In  physical  appearance  they  were,  indeed,  as  far 
apart  as  a  mountain-oak  and  a  fuchsia. 

"I  want  you  to  take  good  care  of  this  young  fel- 
low," said  Cutler,  taking  Sewall  aside.  "He's  am- 
bitious, and  he  isn't  very  strong.  He  won't  say 
when  he's  tired,  he  won't  complain,,  but  he'll  just 
break  down.  You  can't  take  him  on  the  tramps 
you  take  us." 

Bill  Sewall  listened,  making  no  comments.  One 
day,  shortly  after,  without  thinking  much  about  it, 
he  took  Theodore  tramping  twenty-five  miles  or 
more— "a  good,  fair  walk  for  any  common  man," 
he  admitted.  Theodore  survived,  making  no  pro- 
tests; and  Bill  Sewall  decided  that,  in. spite  of  his 
asthmatic  "gufHe-ing"  as  he  called  it,  Theodore 
Roosevelt  was  no  weakling.  Besides,  as  he  told  his 
nephew,  Wilmot  Dow,  after  a  week,  Theodore  was 
"different" — different  from  any  other  human  being 
he  had  ever  met. 

Theodore,  on  his  part,  saw  in  the  great  backwoods- 
man the  living  embodiment  of  his  boyhood  heroes. 
For  Bill  Sewall  belonged  to  the  company  of  those 
sinewy  and  dauntless  fighters  who  at  heart  are  the 

59 


THEODORE    ROOSEVELT 

same  in  all  ages,  though  they  be  Roland's  men  at 
Roncesvalles  or  King  Olaf 's  men  of  the  northern  seas 
or  Washington's  men  at  Valley  Forge  or  brothers  of 
Boone  and  Crockett  on  the  Western  frontier. 
There  was  more  than  a  hint  of  the  viking  in  Bill 
Sewall. 

"I  don't  know  but  what  my  ancestors  were  vik- 
ings," he  said  to  Theodore  one  day.  "There  was  a 
baby  found  on  a  sea-wall  after  the  wreck  of  a  viking 
ship  on  the  English  coast.  That's  where  the  name 
comes  from,  they  say.  I'm  not  so  sure  but  what 
there's  something  in  it." 

Theodore  rather  thought  there  was  a  good  deal  in 
it.  There  was  something  about  Bill  Sewall  that  the 
dark,  surrounding  forests  could  not  quite  account 
for,  a  fierce  glorying  in  the  conflict  with  wind  and 
storm,  an  exultant  defiance  of  the  elements  that 
made  his  eyes  burn  and  his  lips  burst  into  poetry. 
Out  in  a  canoe  on  Mattawamkeag  when  the  waves 
were  highest  and  the  wind  was  blowing  a  gale,  he 
would  fling  back  his  head  and  repeat: 

He  scorns  to  rest  'neath  the  smoky  rafter, 
He  plows  with  his  bark  the  raging  deep. 

The  billows  boil  and  the  winds  howl  after. 
The  sea-king  loves  it  better  than  sleep. 

It  was  not  strange  that  Theodore,  with  dreams  of 
sea-kings  in  his  heart,  should  have  been  thrilled. 
Everything  in  him  that  loved  heroic  actions  turned 
fervidly  to  this  heroic  figure  of  the  Maine  woods. 
Through  him  he  learned  that  the  line  to  which  King 
Olaf  and  John  Ridd  belonged  is  not  extinct.     Here, 

60 


HE    SEEKS    OUT    WISE    FOLK 

where  a  man  brought  down  with  his  ax  forty  to  fifty 
giants  of  the  primeval  forest  in  the  course  of  a  day's 
work,  here  were  his  heroes  in  flesh  and  blood.  With 
all  his  soul  he  wanted  to  be  like  them.  Reluctantly 
he  admitted  to  himself  that  that  was  impossible. 
It  was  characteristic  of  him  that  he  decided  that 
he  would  be  as  much  like  them  as  he  could. 

"We  hitched  up  well,  somehow  or  other,  from  the 
start,"  said  Bill  Sewall,  a  long  time  after.  "He  was 
fair-minded,  Theodore  was.  And  then  he  took 
pains  to  learn  everything.  There  was  nothing  be- 
neath his  notice.  I  liked  him  right  off.  I  liked 
him  clear  through.  There  wasn't  a  quality  in  him 
I  didn't  like.  He  wasn't  headlong  or  aggressive, 
except  when  necessary,  and  as  far  as  I  could  see  he 
wasn't  a  bit  cocky,  though  other  folks  thought  so. 
I  will  say,  he  wasn't  remarkably  cautious  about  ex- 
pressing his  opinion." 

They  "hitched  up"  well,  indeed,  for  the  boy  of 
eighteen  and  the  man  of  thirty-three  were  equally 
clear-eyed  in  judging  men,  not  by  the  externals  of 
body  and  speech,  but  by  the  essentials  of  character 
and  spirit. 

"He  didn't  look  for  a  brilliant  man  when  he  found 
me,"  said  the  backwoodsman,  many  years  later. 
"He  valued  me  for  what  I  was  worth." 

And  a  thousand  miles  away  the  blue-blooded 
aristocrat  said,  "How  could  I  be  a  snob  when  I 
admired  him  so  much?" 

Twice  a  year  at  least  during  his  college  course 
Theodore  Roosevelt  explored  the  woods  and  waters 
of  Aroostook  County  with  his  friend  Bill  Sewall, 

61 


THEODORE    ROOSEVELT 

shooting  ducks,  partridges,  and  rabbits,  but  no  big 
game,  not  even  a  deer,  though  once  they  started  a 
bear  and  another  time  followed  a  caribou  that 
eluded  them. 

Those  journeys  in  the  wilderness,  and  especially 
on  the  waters  of  Lake  Mattawamkeag  and  in  the 
forests  that  bordered  it,  saw  the  growth  of  a  deep 
and  significant  friendship.  They  talked  much  of 
life  and  politics,  finding  that  they  wonderfully 
agreed  in  their  opinions  of  what  was  right  and 
what  was  wrong.  Bill  Sewall  was  a  democrat  from 
his  heels  to  his  head,  and  there  was  one  poem  which 
he  took  a  certain  unobtrusive  pride  in  repeating  to 
Theodore  Roosevelt  on  their  expeditions  through  the 
great,  quiet  woods: 

Who  are  the  nobles  of  the  earth, 

The  true  aristocrats, 
Who  need  not  bow  their  heads  to  kings 

Nor  doff  to  lords  their  hats? 
Who  are  they  but  the  men  of  toil 

Who  cleave  the  forest  down 
And  plant  amid  the  wilderness 

The  hamlet  and  the  town? 
These  claim  no  god  of  heraldry 

And  scorn  the  knighting-rod. 
Their  coats  of  arms  are  noble  deeds, 

Their  peerage  is  from  God. 

Theodore  Roosevelt  had  probably  heard  all  that 
sort  of  thing  before.  But  he  had  never  heard  it  from 
exactly  such  a  source.  That  made  all  the  difference 
in  the  world. 

And  so  it  came  about  that  a  backwoodsman  in 

62 


HE    SEEKS    OUT    WISE    FOLK 

the  heart  of  Maine  taught  a  New  York  aristocrat  and 
respected  member  of  Harvard's  most  exclusive  club 
a  lesson  in  the  meaning  of  democracy. 

Four  years  seem  a  century  on  the  day  a  man 
enters  college,  and  merely  a  watch  in  the  night  on 
the  day  he  leaves  it.  Into  his  own  four  years 
Theodore  Roosevelt  crowded  a  succession  of  full 
and  glowing  days,  clouded  for  a  time  by  a  great  grief, 
when  his  father,  that  stanch  and  inspiring  best  friend 
of  his,  died  in  his  Sophomore  year;  and  lit  by  a 
great  happiness  when,  two  years  later,  he  became 
engaged  to  Alice  Lee. 

Those  years  found  him  at  their  beginning  a  frail 
boy,  intellectually  mature,  but  in  many  ways  a  child 
still.  They  found  him  at  their  close  a  man  in  body 
and  mind  and  spirit,  matured  by  the  experience  of 
sorrow  and  joy,  by  physical  hardship,  independent 
thought,  and  contact  with  men  of  varied  interests 
and  divers  surroundings.  In  academic  standing  he 
graduated  twenty-first  in  his. class;  in  the  affection 
of  his  classmates  he  stood  far  nearer  the  top. 

Theodore  Roosevelt  graduated  from  Harvard  in 
June,  1880.  He  had  every  reason  to  believe  that  he 
had  before  him  an  active  and  useful  life  of  hardship 
and  dangers  and  great  endeavors. 

A  day  or  two  before  he  left  Cambridge  he  went  to 
his  physician  for  a  last  physical  examination. 

The  doctor  told  him  that  he  had  heart  trouble, 
that  he  must  choose  a  profession  that  would  demand 
no  violent  exertion,  that  he  must  take  no  vigorous 
exercise,  that  he  must  not  even  run  up-stairs. 

63 


THEODORE    ROOSEVELT 

It  was  a  stiff  blow,  but  he  took  it  as  he  had  taken 
other  blows.  "Doctor,"  he  said,  "I  am  going  to  do 
all  the  things  you  tell  me  not  to  do.  If  I've  got  to 
live  the  sort  of  life  you  have  described,  I  don't  care 
how  short  it  is." 

In  October  he  married.  The  following  summer  he 
went  abroad  and  ascended  the  Matterhorn  for  no 
earthly  reason  except  that  two  Englishmen  with 
whom  he  was  conversing  seemed  to  be  under  the  im- 
pression that  they  were  the  only  ones  who  had  ever 
ascended  it  and  the  only  ones  who  ever  would. 

And  he  survived  in  spite  of  the  pessimistic  doctor. 


CHAPTER  V 

HE    FINDS    HIS    PLACE    IN    THE    UNIVERSE    WITHOUT 
QUITE    KNOWING   IT 

"T  PUT  myself  in  the  way  of  things  happening," 
1  said  Theodore  Roosevelt,  "and  they  happened." 
It  was  with  the  deliberate  intention  of  having  a 
part  in  .the  government  of  his  country  that  Theodore 
Roosevelt  joined  the  Twenty-first  District  Repub- 
lican Association  in  the  fall  of  1880.  He  did  so  from 
no  particularly  grand  passion  for  public  service  and 
with  no  notion  that  the  country  needed  saving  and 
that  he  was  the  one  to  save  it.  He  wanted  to  be  "on 
the  team."  That  was  all.  It  was  that  old  desire  of 
his  boyhood,  to  be  of  the  fellowship  of  the  doers  of 
great  deeds.  Ward  "heelers,"  he  might  have  said, 
were  not  as  romantic  as  vikings,  but  they  were  prob- 
ably in  their  way  quite  as  effective  fighters.  The 
battle  between  right  and  wrong,  he  might  have  added, 
is  at  bottom  the  same  in  all  ages.  Merely  the  clothes 
and  the  weapons  change.  Joe  Murray,  of  the 
Twenty-first,  might  have  had  some  difficulty  fighting 
in  King  Olaf 's  chain  armor.  King  Olaf,  on  the  other 
hand,  would  never  have  been  able  to  swing  the 
nominating  convention  for  Theodore  Roosevelt 
5  65 


THEODORE    ROOSEVELT 

against  Jake  Hess  and  the  party  machine.  But  Joe 
Murray  and  King  Olaf  would  undoubtedly  have  liked 
each  other  very  much;  for  they  were  both  fighters, 
fearless  and  clean  and  strong. 

Roosevelt's  friends  told  him  mournfully  that  poli- 
tics were  "low,"  that  political  organizations  were 
controlled  not  by  "gentlemen,"  but  by  saloon- 
keepers, horse-car  conductors,  and  the  like.  Theodore 
replied  that  if  saloon-keepers  and  horse-car  conduc- 
tors were  the  ones  who  were  governing  the  United 
States,  and  the  lawyers  and  merchants  and  social 
lights  of  his  own  class  were  merely  the  ones  who 
were  governed,  he  thought  that  the  saloon-keepers 
and  horse-car  conductors  were  emphatically  the  ones 
he  wanted  to  know. 

"If  they're  too  hard-bit  for  me,"  he  remarked, 
"I  suppose  I  shall  have  to  quit.  But  I  do  not  intend 
to  quit  until  I  have  made  an  effort  and  have  found 
out  whether  I  actually  am  too  weak  to  hold  my  own 
in  the  rough  and  tumble." 

So,  to  the  distress  of  his  friends,  he  joined  the 
Republican  Association  and  began  to  attend  its 
meetings  at  Morton  Hall,  a  large,  barnlike  room  over 
a  saloon  in  Fifty-ninth  Street.  The  "boss"  of  the 
district  was  the  City  Commissioner  of  Charities 
and  Correction,  a  man  named  Jake  Hess,  who  treated 
him  with  distant  affability;  and  the  men  he  met  at 
the  meetings  were  the  saloon-keepers  and  horse-car 
conductors  he  had  been  warned  against.  But  they 
were  neither  "unpleasant"  nor  "brutal."  For  a 
time  they  were  a  bit  wary  of  him,  for,  as  one  of  them 
remarked  later,  "he  looked  like  a  dude,  side- whiskers 

66 


HE    FINDS    HIS    PLACE 

an'  all,  y'  know."  But  he  soon  showed  his  quality, 
and  it  was  not  long  before  the  scoffers  began  to  realize 
that  Theodore  Roosevelt  possibly  had  more  hard 
common  sense  and  practical  ability  than  the  lot  of 
them  combined.  He  showed  his  righting  qualities 
over  a  question  of  a  non-partisan  system  of  street- 
cleaning  which  he  wished  the  organization  to  sup- 
port. The  members  applauded  his  speech  on  the 
subject  enthusiastically,  for  they  liked  the  "ginger" 
behind  it.  Possibly  it  was  nothing  but  stern  duty 
which  prevented  them  from  voting  as  he  wished. 
But  stern  duty,  in  the  shape  of  Jake  Hess,  shook  its 
head  and  Roosevelt  was  buried  95  to  4. 

Roosevelt  took  his  defeat  with  a  grin. 

His  fellow-Republicans  of  the  Twenty-first  District 
liked  that  grin  and  began  soon  to  have  the  kind  of 
respect  for  the  man  behind  the  grin  that  they  had 
for  prize-fighters,  political  "bosses,"  and  all  others 
who  could  give  and  take  vigorous  punishment .  There 
was  one  man  in  particular  who  eyed  him  first  with 
humorous  tolerance  and  then  with  growing,  and  pos- 
sibly slightly  puzzled,  interest.  He  was  a  stockily 
built  Irishman  in  the  middle  of  the  thirties,  with 
sparse  reddish  hair  and  drooping  mustache,  a  fine 
head,  a  fighter's  chin,  and  twinkling  eyes. 

His  name  was  Joe  Murray,  and  he  had  come  over 
from  Ireland  in  the  steerage  at  the  tender  age  of 
three,  enlisted  in  the  Army  of  the  Potomac  at 
eighteen,  and  at  the  close  of  the  war  "settled"  on 
First  Avenue  as  leader  of  a  gang.  He  was  fearless, 
powerful,  and  energetic,  and  so  it  came  about  that 
the  local  Tammany  Hall  "boss"  found  a  "job"  for 

67 


THEODORE    ROOSEVELT 

him  of  a  kind  that  he  enjoyed.  This  "  job  "  was  with 
his  gang  to  make  life  miserable  for  Republicans  on 
Election  Day.  He  fulfilled  every  requirement  nobly. 
But  it  happened  that  a  time  came  when  the  local 
"boss"  waxed  proud  and  forgot  to  reward  Joe  Mur- 
ray and  his  "gang."  Joe  Murray  on  his  part  was 
not  forgetful.  He  remembered  for  a  full  year,  and 
at  the  next  election  it  was  not  the  Republicans  who 
were  knocked  over  the  head.  As  far  as  the  Repub- 
licans of  that  particular  district  were  concerned, 
justice  that  day  "came  to  her  own  with  a  whoop." 
The  Republican  leaders  sent  for  Joe  Murray  and 
expressed  their  gratitude  by  giving  him  a  place  in 
the  Post  Office. 

Joe  Murray  and  Theodore  Roosevelt  had  met  at 
the  meetings  and  liked  each  other.  Like  Bill  Sewall, 
Murray,  too,  could  see  beneath  the  surface;  and  he 
admired  the  "college  dude  "  for  his  ideas,  his  courage, 
his  energy,  his  human  understanding,  his  boyish 
and  unreserved  friendliness.  Roosevelt,  on  his  part, 
noting  not  the  superficial  qualities  which  Joe  Murray 
might  lack,  but  the  fundamental  qualities  which  he 
possessed,  conceived  a  great  liking  and  admiration 
for  the  shrewd  and  witty  Irishman.  He  was  not 
slow  to  realize  that  all  the  wealth  and  all  the  educa- 
tional advantages  in  the  world  could  not  of  them- 
selves make  a  man  a  match  for  Joe  Murray's  unpre- 
tentious power  and  sagacity. 

That  discovery  made  him  fittingly  humble. 

And  so  it  was  that  an  Irish  immigrant  gave  Theo- 
dore Roosevelt  another  lesson  in  the  meaning  of 
democracy. 

68 


HE    FINDS    HIS    PLACE 

Meanwhile,  Theodore  the  younger  was  doing  things 
besides  attending  meetings  and  learning  to  know  the 
American  ' '  ruling  class. ' '  His  uncle  Robert  had  per- 
suaded him  to  take  up  the  study  of  law  at  Columbia, 
which  he  did  without  enthusiasm.  A  part  of  every 
day  he  worked  in  his  uncle's  law-office;  in  off  hours 
he  went  ahead  with  his  history  of  The  Naval  War 
of  1812,  which  he  had  begun  at  college.  In  the 
spring  of  1881  he  journeyed  abroad  with  his  wife, 
climbed  a  few  mountains,  visited  endless  picture- 
galleries,  and  returned  in  the  autumn  more  ardently 
American  than  ever.  He  found  the  Republican 
Association  of  the  Twenty-first  Assembly  District 
oiling  the  machinery  for  the  November  election. 

The  "boss,"  it  seemed,  wanted  to  renominate  for 
the  Assembly  the  man  then  representing  the  district. 
That,  under  ordinary  circumstances,  would  have  been 
enough  to  end  the  discussion.  But  it  happened  that 
that  particular  Assemblyman  had  figured,  none  too 
favorably,  in  the  newspapers,  and  one  of  the  "boss's" 
lieutenants  had  a  firm  conviction  that  the  man  would 
be  defeated.  The  big  "boss"  was  obdurate,  but  the 
little  "boss"  was  not  a  man  to  knuckle  under  at 
any  one's  dictation. 

For  it  happened  that  the  little  "boss"  was  Joe 
Murray. 

"I'm  an  organization  man,"  he  said  to  his  friend, 
Major  Bullard,  with  a  wink.  "I'm  always  with  the 
organization — when  it's  of  my  way  of  thinking." 

So,  without  arguing  the  matter  further  with  Jake 
Hess,  Joe  Murray  and  his  friend  Major  Bullard  con- 
trived matters  in  such  a  way  that  they  beat  the 

69 


THEODORE    ROOSEVELT 

''boss"  at  his  own  game  and,  without  making  any 
fuss  or  feathers  about  it,  quietly  obtained  control 
of  the  nominating  convention. 

That  was  all  very  well.  But  they  had  no  can- 
didate. 

"How  would  young  Roosevelt  suit?"  asked  Joe 
Murray. 

Major  Bullard  was  dubious.  "Do  you  know  any- 
thing about  him?" 

"We've  got  to  elect  some  one,"  said  Murray. 
"And  he's  a  live  one.  He'll  get  the  swells  and  the 
Columbia  crowd." 

Columbia  University  was  then  at  Fifty-fourth 
Street. 

That  evening  it  happened  that  Roosevelt  came  to 
the  hall. 

"By  the  way,  Mr.  Roosevelt,"  remarked  Joe 
Murray,  casually,  "how'd  you  like  to  go  to  the 
Legislature?" 

"Pooh!"  said  Theodore  Roosevelt,  suspecting  that 
the  Irishman  was  poking  fun  at  him. 

But  Joe  Murray  was  quite  serious.  "I'm  looking 
for  a  candidate." 

"It's  out  of  the  question  for  me  to  run,"  said 
Roosevelt,  emphatically.  ' 'I've  been  working  against 
Jake  Hess's  man.  I'd  be  suspected  at  once  of  sel- 
fish motives." 

"Will  you  find  me  a  candidate?" 

"You  can  find  plenty." 

"I  want  the  right  kind,"  the  Irishman  insisted. 

They  parted,  Roosevelt  promising  to  look  about. 
They  met  again  next  evening  by  appointment. 

70 


HE    FINDS    HIS    PLACE 

"Well?"  asked  Joe  Murray.  "Have  you  got  a 
candidate?" 

Roosevelt  mentioned  a  half-dozen  names.  Joe 
Murray  objected  to  them  all.  He  had  made  up  his 
mind,  though  he  shrewdly  did  not  say  so. 

"The  convention's  coming  on,"  he  said,  "and  I've 
got  to  have  a  candi.Iate  to  put  up  against  Jake's 
man." 

"I'll  find  you  some  one,"  said  Roosevelt. 

"In  case  you  don't,  would  you  be  willing  to — ?" 

"Under  certain  conditions,  but — " 

The  next  night  Roosevelt  ran  up  to  Murray  with 
both  hands  outstretched.  He  had  been  endeavoring 
to  secure  a  candidate.  He  had  found  none,  but  he 
had  found  out  something  that  made  his  eyes  shine 
as  he  greeted  his  friend. 

"I  owe  you  an  apology,"  he  "cried,  earnestly. 
"Joe,  I  thought  you  were  guying  me.  I've  found 
out  you're  really  serious.     I'll  run." 

Joe  Murray  carried  the  convention  against  the 
machine  and  Theodore  Roosevelt  was  nominated. 

For  an  "off-year"  election,  the  campaign  that  fall 
had  its  points ;  and  for  once  Fifth  Avenue  was  thor- 
oughly interested,  for  it  had  two  "silk-stocking" 
candidates  in  the  field — -Theodore  Roosevelt,  running 
for  Assembly,  and  William  Waldorf  Astor,  run- 
ning for  Congress.  Astor  kissed  the  babies,  treated 
"the  boys,"  and  let  the  money  run  like  water. 
Theodore  Roosevelt  told  the  saloon-keepers,  to  the 
dismay  of  Joe  Murray,  that  he  favored  not  lower 
license,  but  higher  license;  he  made  speeches  here, 
there,  and  everywhere,  speaking  of  cleaner  streets 

7i 


THEODORE    ROOSEVELT 

and  cleaner  politics.  He  asked  his  neighbors  for  their 
votes  not  because  of  his  name  and  not  because  of  his 
money,  but  because  of  the  things  he  stood  for;  and 
his  neighbors,  stirred  by  his  sincerity,  rallied  to  his 
support. 

Election  Day  came,  and  with  it,  from  the  seclusion 
of  their  brownstone  fronts,  came  millionaires  and 
college  professors  to  work  hand  in  hand  with  Joe 
Murray  and  the  boys  of  the  Republican  Association 
to  elect  Theodore  Roosevelt,  twenty-three  years  old, 
to  the  Assembly.  His  sisters  folded  ballots.  His 
brother-in-law,  Douglas  Robinson,  paid  two  dollars 
for  the  use  of  a  news-stand  and  gave  out  tickets  all 
day  long.  The  football  and  baseball  squads  of  Co- 
lumbia came  out  in  a  body,  asking,  "Where  do  you 
think  the  most  trouble  is  going  to  be?"  and  demand- 
ing to  be  sent  there. 

That  night,  after  the  returns  were  in,  William 
Waldorf  Astor  was  a  defeated  and  bitterly  disap- 
pointed man. 

But  Theodore  Roosevelt  was  an  Assemblyman- 
elect. 

Joe  Murray  sat  back,  chuckling,  and  decided  that 
on  the  whole  he  had  done  a  good  job,  an  opinion  for 
which  there  is  much  to  be  said. 

Albany  in  1882  was  very  much  like  every  other 
state  capital  in  1882.  There  were  in  the  Assembly 
and  Senate  a  few  disinterested,  public- spirited  men 
with  ability  and  drive,  a  somewhat  larger  number  of 
good  people  who  preferred  honest  government  to 
dishonest  government,  but  had  not  the  vision  or  the 

72 


HE    FINDS    HIS    PLACE 

force  to  achieve  it,  and  a  sinister  group,  known  as  the 
"black-horse  cavalry,"  who  were  the  paid  agents  of 
"the  interests"  and  whose  point  of  view  is  best  rep- 
resented by  the  declaration  of  one  Albany  statesman : 
"I'm  in  politics  working  for  my  own  pocket  all  the 
time.    Same  as  you." 

Theodore  Roosevelt  quickly  found  his  place  in  the 
Assembly  among  that  small  number  of  Democrats 
as  well  as  Republicans  who  were  wise  and  forceful 
as  well  as  "good."  He  himself  was  whole-heartedly 
a  Republican,  but  he  realized  soon  that  it  was  not 
on  lines  of  party  principle  or  political  theories  that 
the  Legislature  split.  "The  interests"  were  power- 
ful, and  to  them  it  made  no  difference  whether  the 
man  who  took  their  money  was  of  one  party  or  the 
other.  "When  you've  been  here  a  little  longer,  young 
man,"  said  one  old  war-horse  to  him  one  day,  "you'll 
learn  that  there's  no  politics  in  politics."  It  was 
not  Democrats  against  Republicans.  It  was  honest 
government  against  corruption;  justice  and  right 
against  bribery,  theft,  and  blackmail. 

Theodore  Roosevelt  needed  no  one  to  tell  him 
which  of  these  two  forces  to  support.  He  found  a 
number  of  strong  and  attractive  fighters,  moreover, 
ranged  on  his  side.  There  was  "Billy"  O'Neill,  for 
instance,  who  owned  a  country  store  in  the  Adiron- 
dacks  somewhere,  and  had  run  for  Assembly  against 
the  local  "machine"  and,  with  the  aid  of  a  buggy 
and  a  horse,  beaten  it.  There  was  "Mike"  Costello, 
who  had  been  elected  as  a  Tammany  man,  believing 
that  Tammany  was  a  patriotic  organization,  and  who 
cheerfully  defied  it  when  he  discovered  that  it  was 

73 


THEODORE    ROOSEVELT 

nothing  of  the  kind;  and  there  was  "Pete"  Kelly,  of 
Brooklyn,  another  Democrat,  who  also  fought  for 
the  people  of  his  state  against  the  armed  legions  of 
corruption,  and  was  later  flung  aside  without  pity  by 
his  "bosses,"  and  died  like  a  soldier.  Day  after  day, 
night  after  night,  with  shoulders  squared  and  feet 
set  firm,  these  men  fought  with  Theodore  Roosevelt 
for  justice  and  honest  government. 

It  was  not  an  easy  battle  to  fight,  for  the  enemy 
had  wealth  and  powerful  influence,  and  in  many  cases 
the  issues  were  not  clear.  Theodore  Roosevelt  and 
his  friends  found  that  it  was  often  a  heartbreaking 
business  not  so  much  to  defend  the  right  and  defeat 
the  wrong,  but  to  find  out  which  side  was  right  and 
which  side  was  wrong.  When  Roosevelt  came  to 
Albany  he  thought  that  the  agents  of  "the  interests  " 
would  be  the  only  ones  he  would  have  to  fight.  He 
had  to  fight  them,  and  he  fought  them  hard.  But  he 
had  not  been  in  the  Legislature  a  week  before  he 
discovered  that  there  was  another  variety  of  crim- 
inal there  as  bitterly  hostile  to  the  interests  of  the 
people  of  the  state  as  any  bribed  tool  of  the  cor- 
porations. 

That  was  the  man  who  pretended  to  be  a  "friend 
of  the  people"  and  who  introduced  bills  aimed  at 
"big  business"  for  no  other  reason  except  to  be  paid 
by  "big  business"  not  to  push  them.  Some  of  these 
bills  were  just ;  the  majority  of  them,  however,  were 
wild  and  improper.  None  of  them  were  expected  to 
pass.  They  were  introduced  merely  as  blackmail — a 
form  of  hold-up  and  highway  robbery  to  which  the 
corporations  had  to  submit  or  perish. 

74 


HE    FINDS    HIS    PLACE 

Outwardly  opposed  to  these  two  varieties  of 
grafters,  but  actually  their  allies,  were,  on  the  one 
hand,  certain  good  men  who  were  naturally  conserva- 
tive and  thought  that  rich  men  were  a  noble,  national 
institution  which  should  always  be  protected  and 
coddled ;  and,  on  the  other  hand,  certain  other  good 
men  who  were  naturally  radical  and  thought  that 
rich  men  were  always  wrong  and  should  always  be 
thwarted,  merely  because  they  were  rich.  There 
was  another  group  besides  these,  consisting  of 
"amiable  idealists"  who  talked  a  great  deal  and 
never  got  very  far. 

Between  these  various  groups  of  ineffective  men 
with  high  ideals  and  decidedly  effective  men  with  no 
ideals  at  all,  Theodore  Roosevelt  and  his  associates 
took  their  stand,  believing  that  men  could  follow  a 
high  ideal  and  still  be  effective.  Taken  all  in  all,  they 
put  up  a  first-rate  fight  for  clean  government  and 
a  "square  deal." 

The  most  important  affair  in  which  Roosevelt 
was  individually  prominent  was  the  battle  for 
the  impeachment  of  Judge  Westbrook,  and  in  this 
Roosevelt  from  first  to  last  played  the  leading 
part. 

The  case  was  not  unusual.  The  judge  had  used 
his  Judicial  office  to  further  the  schemes  of  Jay 
Gould  and  other  financiers  in  connection  with  a 
fraudulent  and  bankrupt  elevated  railway  company 
in  New  York  City. 

The  scandal  was  public  and  the  newspapers  called 
for  action.  But  no  one  acted.  The  Legislature  was 
averse  to  touching  it.    There  was  dynamite  in  scan- 

75 


THEODORE    ROOSEVELT 

dais  of  this  sort.  The  members  hoped  the  thing 
would  blow  over. 

Theodore  Roosevelt  was  in  years,  as  well  as  in 
experience,  the  youngest  member  of  the  Legislature. 
He  had  been  in  Albany  less  than  three  months.  He 
hoped  that  an  older  man  would  take  the  lead.  But 
no  older  man  did.    The  older  men  were  cautious. 

Suddenly,  on  March  29th,  Roosevelt  presented  a 
resolution  calling  for  an  investigation.  And  then 
the  storm  broke. 

A  few  friends  stood  by  him,  but  the  majority  of 
the  Legislature  were  either  timid  or  openly  antago- 
nistic. The  newspapers  took  sides.  The  New  York 
Herald  and  Times  applauded;  the  Sun  rapped 
him  sharply,  declaring  that  he  had  rashly  made 
charges  which  he  could  not  support,  and  intimat- 
ing that  the  whole  matter  was  grand-stand  play 
and  that  Roosevelt  himself  did  not  believe  the 
charges. 

The  politicians  sharpened  their  knives.  For  a 
week  Roosevelt  did  nothing  to  bring  his  resolution 
to  a  vote.  People  began  to  say  that  Roosevelt  had 
been  "called  off."  The  judge  and  his  associates 
began  to  breathe  more  freely. 

And  then,  early  in  April,  Roosevelt  spoke. 

He  did  not  speak  long,  but  he  spoke  with  vigor, 
presenting  the  damaging  facts.  He  called  thieves 
thieves  and  swindlers  swindlers. 

"Mr.  Roosevelt's  speech  was  delivered  with  delib- 
eration and  measured  emphasis,"  said  the  Albany 
correspondent  of  the  Sun,  next  morning,  "and  his 
charges  were  made  with  a  boldness  that  was  almost 

76 


HE    FINDS    HIS    PLACE 

startling.  The  members  gave  the  closest  attention 
and  he  went  through  without  interruption." 

"We  have  a  right,"  cried  Roosevelt,  in  closing, 
"to  demand  that  our  judiciary  shall  be  kept  beyond 
reproach  and  we  have  a  right  to  demand  that,  if  we 
find  men  acting  so  that  there  is  not  only  a  suspicion, 
but  almost  a  certainty,  that  they  have  had  dealings 
with  men  whose  interests  were  in  conflict  with  those 
of  the  public,  they  should  be  at  least  required  to 
prove  that  the  charges  are  untrue." 

He  called  for  a  vote  on  the  resolution,  but  an  old 
war-horse  of  Syracuse  known  as  Old  Salt,  a  master 
of  parliamentary  trickery,  leaped  to  his  feet  and  be- 
gan to  talk  against  time.  Roosevelt,  in  his  inex- 
perience, had  made  the  mistake  of  introducing  his 
resolution  within  an  hour  of  the  close  of  the  day's 
session.  Old  Salt  took  what  remained  of  that  hour 
to  pour  ridicule  and  contempt  on  "the  young  man 
from  New  York." 

Roosevelt  interrupted  and  called  for  a  vote  to 
extend  the  session.  It  was  refused.  The  session 
closed  with  the  war-horse  for  the  moment  victorious. 

But  the  battle  was  to  be  fought  not  only  on  the 
floor  of  the  Assembly.  By  the  next  morning  the  whole 
state  was  the  battle-ground.  The  newspapers  from 
Buffalo  to  Montauk  Point  carried  the  story  of  the 
fight.  The  people  of  the  state,  whose  cause  Roose- 
velt was  defending,  began  to  take  an  interest. 

Meanwhile,  in  the  words  of  the  New  York  Times, 
"mysterious  influences"  were  at  work  to  cover  up 
the  scandal.  A  messenger  from  John  Kelly,  the  boss 
of  Tammanv  Hall,  hurried  to  Albany.  Agents  "from 

77 


THEODORE    ROOSEVELT 

wealthy  stock  gamblers  "  whom  Roosevelt  had  openly 
denounced  as  "swindlers"  appeared  in  the  lobby  of 
the  Capitol.  Roosevelt  himself  was  urged,  not  only 
by  his  enemies,  but  by  his  friends,  not  to  press  the 
hopeless  fight.  They  pointed  out  to  him  that,  with 
"the  interests"  against  him,  he  could  never  in  the 
world  secure  the  passage  of  the  resolution ;  they  made 
clear  to  him  that  he  was  ruining  his  promising 
career. 

He  set  his  jaw — which  was  already  a  solid  jaw 
even  in  those  days — and  presented  a  motion  next 
day  to  lay  aside  the  regular  order  of  business  in 
order  to  consider  the  resolution.  He  needed  a  two- 
thirds  vote.  He  received  it,  but  the  clerk  deliber- 
ately reported  a  false  count,  and  once  again  he  was 
defeated. 

"We  told  you  so,"  said  his  friends. 

Roosevelt's  reply  was  characteristic.  This  was  the 
Sun's  brief  report  next  morning,  "Mr.  Roosevelt  says 
he  shall  keep  on  trying  until  he  wins." 

Everything  and  everybody  were  against  Roosevelt 
and  his  resolution — except  the  people.  The  Easter 
recess  interrupted  the  session.  The  Assemblymen 
went  to  their.homes.  When  they  returned,  a  change 
had  come  over  them.  Roosevelt  presented  his  reso- 
lution once  more. 

It  passed  the  Assembly  104  to  6. 

The  fight  had  made  a  sensation,  and  though,  sub- 
sequently, the  majority  of  the  investigating  commit- 
tee voted  to  "whitewash"  the  judge,  the  charges 
were  not  disproved.  Roosevelt  became  a  state  figure. 
His  renomination  was  inevitable. 

78 


HE    FINDS    HIS    PLACE 

But  Roosevelt  had  made  enemies,  and  they  were 
powerful  and  active.  The  Times,  pleading  for  his 
re-election,  declared  that  Jay  Gould's  money  was 
being  used  to  defeat  the  young  Assemblyman  who 
had  dared  to  attack  the  great  financier  and  his 
judge. 

He  had  friends,  moreover,  who  played  the  game 
of  his  enemies.  There  was  a  prominent  lawyer,  for 
instance,  an  old  family  friend,  who  took  him  out  to 
lunch  one  day. 

"You've  done  well  in  the  Legislature,  Theodore," 
he  remarked.  "It's  a  good  thing  to  make  the  're- 
form play.'  It  attracts  attention.  You've  shown 
that  you  possess  ability  of  the  sort  that  will  make  you 
useful  in  a  large  law-office  or  business.  But  if  I  were 
you  I  don't  think  I'd  overplay  my  hand." 

"Eh?"  interrupted  Roosevelt. 

"You've  gone  far  enough,"  the  lawyer  went  on, 
calmly.  "Now  it's  time  for  you  to  leave  poli- 
tics and  identify  yourself  with  the  right  kind  of 
people — " 

"The  right  kind—" 

"The  people  who  control  others  and  in  the  long 
run  always  will  control  others  and  get  the  only  re- 
wards that  are  worth  having." 

"You  mean  to  say,"  cried  Roosevelt,  hotly,  "that 
you  want  me  to  give  in  to  the  'ring'?" 

The  older  man  answered,  impatiently:  "You're 
talking  like  a  newspaper.  You're  entirely  mistaken 
if  you  think  there  is  a  'ring'  made  up  of  a  few 
corrupt  politicians  who  control  the  government. 
Those  men  have  only  limited  power.     The  actual 

79 


THEODORE    ROOSEVELT 

power  is  in  the  hands  of  a  certain  inner  circle  of  big 
business  men.  The  big  politicians,  lawyers,  judges 
are  in  alliance  with  them  and,  in  a  sense,  dependent 
on  them.  No  young  man  can  succeed  in  law,  busi- 
ness, or  politics  who  hasn't  the  backing  of  those 
forces.  That  is  as  it  should  be.  For  it  is  merely  the 
recognition  that  business  is  supremely  important 
and  that  everything  else  must  bow  to  it." 

Theodore  Roosevelt  had  never  before  come  in 
contact  with  that  point  of  view,  and  it  gave  him  a 
shock.  It  threw  a  vivid  light  backward  on  the 
impeachment  investigation.  He  understood  now 
why,  with  all  the  evidence  against  the  venal  judge 
and  the  people  of  the  state  of  New  York  calling  for 
his  impeachment,  he  had  nevertheless  escaped. 

Theodore  the  younger  did  not  take  his  friend's 
advice.  "I  think  I'll  try  to  go  back  to  the  Legis- 
lature," he  said. 

And  he  did. 

He  won  his  re-election  in  spite  of  the  open  opposi- 
tion of  Jay  Gould  and  those  other  forces  which  his 
friend  had  declared  no  man  could  ever  successfully 
oppose;  in  spite  even  of  a  Democratic  landslide  in 
the  state  which  carried  an  almost  unknown  sheriff 
from  Buffalo  into  the  Governorship  and  introduced 
to  a  surprised  world — Grover  Cleveland.  In  the 
Twenty-first  District,  Roosevelt  ran  two  thousand 
votes  ahead  of  his  party. 

Roosevelt  was  glad  to  return  to  Albany,  no  longer 
a  novice  now,  but,  at  twenty-four,  the  leader  of  his 
party  in  the  Assembly.  He  was  nominated  for 
Speaker,  but  defeated,  for  the  Democrats  were  in  full 

80 


HE   FINDS    HIS    PLACE 

control.  His  force  and  influence  were  unquestioned. 
He  was  known  as  the  "cyclone  member." 

It  would  have  been  strange  if  his  swift  rise  had  not 
somewhat  turned  his  head.  It  did  turn  it  for  a  brief 
period.  He  had  won  his  place  in  the  Assembly  and 
in  the  respect  of  the  people  of  the  state  through  his 
straightforward  and  blunt  independence.  He  there- 
upon became  so  impressed  with  the  virtue  of  com- 
plete independence  that  he  paid  no  attention  to  the 
opinions  or  the  prejudices  of  others.  He  had  fought 
the  fight  against  Judge  Westbrook  practically  alone. 
He  came  to  the  conclusion  consequently  that  he 
could  fight  any  fight  alone. 

He  no  longer  sought  advice  or  co-operation.  His 
own  conscience,  his  own  judgment,  were  to  decide 
all  things.  He  refused  to  make  concessions,  being 
unable  to  see  that  a  man  might  disagree  with  him 
on  details  or  methods  and  yet  be  heartily  with  him 
in  principle. 

His  opponents  talked  of  "big  head."  His  friends 
grumbled:  "What's  got  into  Roosevelt?  He  won't 
listen  to  anybody.    He  thinks  he  knows  it  all." 

He  fought  hard  for  good  causes.  But  he  was  no 
longer  successful.  Before  he  knew  what  was  hap- 
pening, his  influence  had  evaporated.  He  was  a 
leader  without  a  following — the  laughing-stock  of  his 
enemies,  the  despair  of  his  friends. 

But  he  had  vision;  and  he  had  a  sense  of  humor. 

Gradually  he  began  to  understand.     No  one  can 

live  by  himself  alone,  he  realized,  and  with  increasing 

clearness  he  saw  that  his  only  hope  of  doing  effective 

work  lay  in  close  co-operation  with  the  men  who, 

6  81 


THEODORE    ROOSEVELT 

though  differing  from  him  in  minor  matters,  agreed 
with  him  on  the  fundamentals. 

It  was  not  easy  for  Theodore  Roosevelt  to  eat 
humble  pie. 

But  he  ate  it. 


CHAPTER  VI 

HE    GOES    ON    HIS   FIRST   REAL   HUNT 

IT  was  in  the  late  summer  of  1883.  Theodore  the 
younger  had  had  a  recurrence  of  his  asthma,  com- 
plicated by  an  attack  of  that  other  enemy  of  his 
boyhood,  cholera  morbus.  On  a  postal  card  ad- 
dressed to  his  "mother ling"  he  speaks  of  the  "night- 
mare" of  that  period  of  illness.  Oyster  Bay  could 
give  him  no  relief,  and  he  fled  westward,  hoping  that 
the  dry  air  and  vigorous  outdoor  life  of  Dakota 
would  restore  him  to  strength  before  the  opening  of 
another  season  of  political  struggle.  He  had  no 
particular  destination.  He  wanted  to  hunt  buffalo 
while  there  were  still  buffalo  to  hunt — that  was  all. 
He  wanted  to  taste  the  life  of  the  "wild  West" 
before  that  life  vanished  like  mist  before  the  wind. 
The  West  had  begun  to  call  him  before  he  was  out 
of  his  teens.  His  brother  Elliott,  two  years  younger 
than  he,  had  shot  buffalo  in  Texas  while  Theodore 
the  younger  was  tamely  acquiring  an  education  in 
Massachusetts,  and  had  returned  with  thrilling 
stories  of  hairbreadth  escapes  from  wild  beasts  and 
wilder  men.  More  than  once  he  had  been  charged 
by  a  wounded  buffalo;    he  had  been  caught  in  a 

83 


THEODORE    ROOSEVELT 

stampede,  escaping  with  his  life  by  a  miracle;  his 
camp  had  been  raided  by  Comanches  and  his  horses 
stolen;  he  had  gone  for  two  days  without  water  or 
food;  now  and  then,  at  a  ranch  or  at  one  of  the 
border  towns  where  he  and  his  companions  stopped 
for  the  night,  he  had  become  involved  in  what  his 
journal  briefly  recorded  as  "big  fights."  And  he  was 
just  seventeen. 

Theodore  ached  to  find  the  country  where  adven- 
tures like  that  grew.  But  for  the  moment  they  were 
not  for  him.  It  was  five  years  before  he  saw  the  West 
on  a  brief  and  uneventful  hunting-trip  beyond  the 
Red  River  in  Dakota;  it  was  six  before  he  first  saw 
the  Little  Missouri  winding  through  those  "Bad 
Lands"  which,  for  all  their  sinister  desolation,  were, 
ever  after,  to  be  the  best  beloved  of  lands  for  him. 

Theodore  Roosevelt,  bound  westward,  left  New 
York  one  evening  in  late  summer,  still  weak  and  mis- 
erable from  the  effects  of  his  illness.  But  the  mere 
prospect  of  a  touch  of  wild  life  seemed  to  be  a  re- 
storative. Before  he  reached  Chicago  he  had  written 
his  mother  that  he  felt  "like  a  fighting-cock";  be- 
fore he  arrived  at  his  destination  in  Dakota  he  was 
ready  for  any  hardships  or  adventures  Dakota  had 
to  offer. 

Dakota,  it  seems,  was  ready  for  him  with  a  com- 
plete assortment  of  both. 

It  was  three  o'clock  of  a  cool  September  morning 
when  he  dropped  off  the  train  at  a  "busted  cow 
town"  on  the  Northern  Pacific,  called  Medora.  It 
was  no  metropolis.  It  consisted  of  the  railroad  sta- 
tion, another  rather  ramshackle  building  known  as 


HIS    FIRST    REAL   HUNT 

the  Pyramid  Park  Hotel,  and  a  population  esti- 
mated later,  by  one  of  the  cowboys  who  used  to 
stray  in  from  the  outlying  ranches  on  pay-day,  as 
"eleven — counting  the  chickens — when  they're  all 
in  town." 

Roosevelt  dragged  his  duffle-bag  through  the  black- 
ness toward  the  hotel,  and  hammered  on  the  door. 
The  frowsy  proprietor,  after  a  long  while,  admitted 
him,  muttering  oaths,  and  gave  him  lodging  for 
what  remained  of  the  night.  But  he  knew  of  no 
guide  who  would  take  an  Easterner  with  spectacles 
hunting  bison. 

It  happened,  however,  that  a  certain  man  named 
Ferris  was  in  town,  having  driven  in  from  his  ranch, 
the  Chimney  Butte,  for  supplies.  He  suggested  that 
Roosevelt  go  back  with  him.  His  ranch,  he  said, 
was  ten  or  twelve  miles  up  the  Little  Missouri. 
Roosevelt  agreed. 

Chimney  Butte  Ranch  turned  out  to  be  a  log 
structure  with  a  dirt  roof,  a  chicken-house  attached, 
and  a  corral  for  the  horses  near  by.  There  was 
only  one  room  inside,  with  a  table,  three  or  four 
chairs,  a  cooking- stove,  and  three  bunks  for  Ferris, 
whose  first  name  was  Joe,  his  brother  Sylvane,  and 
their  partner,  Joe  Merrifield.  The  three  men  were 
"ranchmen" — that  is,  they  were  cowboys  with  a 
small  herd  of  their  own.  Roosevelt  liked  them,  and 
after  they  had  reconciled  themselves  to  his  glasses — 
always  looked  upon  with  suspicion  by  plainsmen  in 
those  days  "as  a  sign  of  a  defective  moral  charac- 
ter"— -they  decided  that  they  liked  him. 

Joe  Ferris  volunteered  to  be  the  one  to  help  Roose- 

85 


THEODORE    ROOSEVELT 

velt  to  the  buffalo  he  wanted.  Buffalo  had  been 
plentiful  roundabout  for  several  winters,  but  some 
six  months  previous  the  last  of  the  great  herds  had 
been  either  destroyed  or  driven  out,  and  only  a  few 
stragglers  remained  far  up  the  river.  The  hunters 
proceeded  to  a  remote  cow  camp,  many  miles  south 
of  the  Chimney  Butte,  and  from  there  began  their 
hunt. 

They  started  with  the  dawn,  and  two  hours  later 
came  on  the  fresh  tracks  of  a  bull  buffalo.  They 
followed  it  along  the  soft  creek-bottom,  lost  it,  and 
after  an  hour's  searching  were  about  to  confess 
themselves  outwitted,  when  at  the  mouth  of  a  little 
side-coulee  or  creek-valley,  there  was  a  plunge  and 
crackle  among  the  bushes  as  a  shabby-looking  old 
bull  bison  galloped  out  of  it,  plunged  over  a  steep 
bank  into  a  patch  of  broken  ground,  and  disappeared. 
Neither  Roosevelt  nor  Ferris  had  had  time  to  dis- 
mount and  fire.  They  spurred  their  horses  over  the 
rough  ground  to  the  base  of  a  high  butte  and  around 
it,  only  to  discover  the  quarry  a  quarter  of  a  mile 
away,  climbing  another  craggy  butte  with  amazing 
ease  and  agility.  The  buffalo  stopped  and  looked 
back  at  them,  holding  his  head  high;  then  again  he 
was  off.  They  followed,  losing  his  track  at  last  on. 
the  hard  ground,  and  saw  no  more  of  him. 

The  air  was  hot  and  still,  and  on  every  side  the 
brown,  barren  land  stretched  monotonously.  Their 
lunch  was  a  biscuit  soaked  in  a  muddy  pool.  All 
day  they  rode,  but  it  was  late  afternoon  before  they 
saw  any  game.  Then,  far  off  in  the  middle  of  a 
large  plain,  they  saw  three  black  specks. 

86 


HIS    FIRST    REAL    HUNT 

The  horses  were  slow  beasts;  they  were  tired,  be- 
sides. Roosevelt  and  the  guide  decided  to  picket 
them  and  to  crawl  up  on  the  game.  The  land  was 
not  favorable,  but  they  took  advantage  of  each  clump 
of  sage-brush  for  cover,  creeping  on  hands  and  knees 
and  finally  wriggling  forward  on  their  stomachs  like 
snakes.  At  last,  not  without  physical  pain,  for 
Roosevelt  had  blundered  into  a  cactus-plant  and 
filled  his  hands  with  the  spines,  they  came  to  within 
a  hundred  and  fifty  yards  of  three  huge  bull  bison. 

Roosevelt  stood  up,  fired,  and  hit.  But  the  shot 
struck  too  far  back,  and  away  went  the  buffalo,  with 
their  tails  up,  over  a  low  rise. 

The  hunters  returned  to  their  norses  in  disgust, 
and  for  seven  or  eight  miles  loped  the  jaded  animals 
along  at  a  brisk  pace.  Now  and  again  they  saw  the 
quarry  far  ahead.  Finally,  when  the  sun  had  just 
set,  they  noticed  that  all  three  buffalo  had  come  to 
a  stand  in  a  gentle  hollow.  There  was  no  cover 
anywhere.  They  concluded  to  run  them  on  their 
worn-out  ponies. 

The  bison  faced  them  for  an  instant,  then  turned 
and  made  off.  Daylight  was  swiftly  falling  and 
Roosevelt  spurred  his  pony  to  a  last  desperate  spurt, 
closing  in  on  the  animal  he  had  wounded  just  as 
the  rim  of  the  full  moon  rose  above  the  horizon. 
Ferris,  better  mounted,  forged  ahead.  The  bull,  see- 
ing him  coming,  swerved.  Roosevelt  cut  across  and 
came  almost  up  to  him.  The  ground  over  which 
they  were  madly  dashing  was  broken  into  holes  and 
ditches.  It  was  impossible  in  the  dull  light  to  guide 
the  horses,  which  floundered  and  pitched  forward 

8; 


THEODORE    ROOSEVELT 

at  every  stride,  utterly  fagged  and  scarcely  able  to 
keep  their  feet. 

Roosevelt  fired  at  the  wounded  bull  at  twenty 
feet,  but  the  darkness  blurred  his  vision  and  the 
violent  motion  of  the  pony  threw  out  his  aim.  He 
dashed  in  closer. 

The  bull's  tail  went  up  and  he  wheeled  suddenly 
and  charged. 

The  pony,  panic-stricken,  spun  round  and  tossed 
up  his  head,  striking  the  rifle  which  Roosevelt  was 
holding  in  both  hands  and  knocking  it  violently 
against  his  forehead,  cutting  a  deep  gash.  The 
blood  poured  into  Roosevelt's  eyes. 

The  buffalo  passed  him,  charging  Ferris,  who 
dashed  off  over  the  broken  ground  as  fast  as  the 
stumbling  horse  would  go,  with  the  buffalo  snorting 
almost  at  his  pony's  tail.  Ferris,  swerving  suddenly 
and  dismounting,  fired  at  the  buffalo,  missed  in  the 
dim  moonlight,  fired  again  and  again  missed. 

The  wounded  bull  lumbered  and  labored  off. 
Roosevelt  made  after  him  on  foot  in  hopeless  and 
helpless  wrath,  until  the  great  hulk  disappeared  in 
the  darkness. 

They  did  not  mount  the  exhausted  horses,  but  led 
them,  trembling,  foaming,  sweating,  in  the  hope  of 
somewhere  finding  water  near  by.  The  horses  as 
well  as  the  men  had  drunk  nothing  for  twelve  hours 
and  were  parched  with  thirst.  At  last  in  a  reedy 
hollow  they  found  a  muddy  pool,  but  the  water 
was  like  thin  jelly,  slimy  and  nauseating.  They 
could  drink  a  mouthful  and  no  more. 

They  unsaddled  the  horses,  making  their  supper 

88 


HIS    FIRST    REAL    HUNT 

of  a  dry  biscuit.  There  were  no  trees  or  bushes 
about — they  could  make  no  fire ;  and  when  they  lay 
down  to  sleep  they  had  to  lariat  their  horses  to  the 
saddles  on  which  their  heads  rested. 

They  did  not  go  quickly  to  sleep.  The  horses 
were  nervous,  restless,  alert,  in  spite  of  their 
fatigue,  snorting  and  standing  with  ears  forward, 
peering  into  the  night.  Roosevelt  remembered  cer- 
tain half-breed  Crees  they  had  encountered  the  day 
before.  It  was  quite  possible  that  the  Indians  might 
come  for  their  horses,  and  perhaps  their  scalps.  They 
dozed  fitfully,  feeling  danger  in  the  air.  At  last  they 
fell  asleep. 

They  were  rudely  wakened  by  having  their  pillows 
whipped  from  under  their  heads.  They  leaped  to 
their  feet.  In  the  bright  moonlight  they  saw  the 
horses  madly  galloping  off,  with  the  saddles  bounding 
and  trailing  behind  them.  It  occurred  to  them  that 
the  ponies  had  been  stampeded  by  horse-thieves, 
and  they  threw  themselves  on  the  ground,  crouching 
in  the  grass,  with  rifles  ready. 

There  was  no  stir.  At  last  in  the  hollow  they 
made  out  a  shadowy  four-footed  shape.  It  was  a 
wolf  who  strode  noiselessly  to  the  low  crest  and 
disappeared. 

They  rose  and  went  after  the  horses,  taking  the 
broad  trail  made  by  the  saddles  through  the  dewy 
grass. 

Once  Ferris  stopped.  "I've  never  done  anything 
to  deserve  this!"  he  exclaimed,  plaintively.  Then, 
turning  straight  to  Roosevelt,  evidently  suspecting 
that  the  man  with  the  "four  eyes"  must  be  a  Jonah, 

89 


THEODORE    ROOSEVELT 

he  cried,  wrathfully,  "Have  you  ever  done  anything 
to  deserve  this?" 

Roosevelt  grinned. 

They  found  the  horses  sooner  than  they  expected 
and  led  them  back  to  camp.  Utterly  weary,  they 
wrapped  themselves  in  their  blankets  once  more, 
and  went  to  sleep.  But  rest  was  not  for  them  that 
night.  A  thin  rain  began  to  fall  at  three  in  the 
morning.  Until  dawn  they  cowered  and  shivered 
under  the  blankets.  Then  they  rose  and  made  their 
breakfast  of  the  same  sort  of  dry  biscuit  of  which 
they  had  made  their  supper,  mounted  their  horses, 
and  started  away  through  a  drizzling  mist. 

Traveling  by  compass  over  the  foggy,  shapeless 
plain,  drenched  to  the  skin  by  an  occasional  deluge 
of  rain,  they  rode  for  several  hours.  At  last  the  fog 
lifted  for  a  few  minutes,  and  suddenly  they  saw  ahead 
of  them  some  black  objects  crossing  a  piece  of  rolling 
country.    They  were  buffalo. 

They  picketed  their  horses  and  began  stealthily  to 
stalk  the  quarry,  creeping  forward  on  hands  and 
knees.  A  cold  rain  blew  in  their  faces,  blurring  their 
vision  and  making  their  teeth  chatter.  They  came 
within  a  hundred  yards  of  the  nearest  buffalo,  loom- 
ing black  and  distinct  against  the  white  wall  of  fog. 

Roosevelt  fired — and  missed.  The  buffalo  band 
plunged  into  a  hollow  and  were  off,  beyond  pursuit, 
before  his  stiffened  fingers  could  get  another  shot. 

They  spent  another  miserable  night.  Next  morn- 
ing the  weather  had  improved,  but  not  their  luck. 
Ferris's  horse  almost  trod  on  a  rattlesnake  and  nar- 
rowly escaped  being  bitten.      Shortly  after,   while 

90 


HIS    FIRST    REAL    HUNT 

they  were  riding  along  the  face  of  a  steep  bluff,  the 
sandy  soil  suddenly  broke  away  under  the  ponies' 
hoofs.  They  slid  and  rolled  to  the  bottom,  coming 
to  a  stop  at  last  in  a  huddled  heap  of  horses  and  men. 
The  hunters  mounted  the  frightened  animals  again, 
but  shortly  after,  while  galloping  through  a  brush- 
covered  bottom,  Roosevelt's  pony  put  both  forefeet 
in  a  hole  made  by  the  uprooting  of  a  tree  and  turned 
a  complete  somersault,  pitching  his  rider  a  good 
ten  feet  beyond  his  head. 

If  s  dogged  as  does  it,  runs  a  famous  maxim. 

Roosevelt  helped  his  horse  to  his  feet  and  again 
mounted.  And  a  little  later,  in  the  bed  of  a  dry 
creek  which  had  all  the  appearance  of  solid  ground, 
the  earth  suddenly  gave  way  like  a  trap-door  under 
his  horse  and  let  him  down  to  his  withers  in  soft, 
sticky  mud.  Roosevelt  flung  himself  off  the  saddle 
and  floundered  to  the  bank,  loosening  the  lariat  from 
the  saddle-bow.  Pulling  and  hauling,  with  Ferris's 
pony  to  aid,  they  drew  the  trembling  and  mud- 
plastered  horse  to  safety. 

For  three  days  they  had  lived  on  nothing  but  dry 
biscuits;  they  had  had  every  variety  of  discomfort 
and  misadventure;  and  they  had  shot  no  buffalo. 

It's  dogged  as  docs  it.  Roosevelt  said  he  would 
keep  on  until  they  did  shoot  one. 

Less  than  an  hour  later,  grazing  in  the  bunch- 
grass  of  a  narrow  coulee,  Roosevelt,  on  foot,  following 
the  round  hoofprints  of  a  buffalo  the  ponies  had 
scented,  came  upon  a  great  bull  bison.  The  bull 
threw  back  his  head  and  cocked  his  tail  in  the  air. 

Roosevelt  fired,  hitting  him  behind  the  shoulder. 

9i 


THEODORE    ROOSEVELT 

The  buffalo  bounded  up  the  farther  side  of  the 
ravine,  heedless  of  two  more  shots  that  struck  him 
in  the  flank,  and  disappeared  over  the  ridge. 

They  found  him  in  the  next  gully,  stark  dead. 

Sylvane  Ferris  had  had  certain  apprehensions,  at 
the  beginning  of  the  trip,  that  the  slender  young 
man  with  spectacles  would  not  be  able  ' '  to  stand  the 
racket."  He  had  no  notions  of  that  kind  at  the  end 
of  it.  He  told  his  brother  and  Joe  Merrifield  that 
this  was  a  new  variety  of  tenderfoot,  "handy  as  a 
pocket  in  a  shirt"  and  altogether  a  "plumb  good 
sort."  Roosevelt,  on  his  part,  took  a  huge  fancy  to 
the  three  quiet,  bronzed,  self-reliant  men.  He  liked 
the  country,  too.  It  was  bare  and  wild  and  desolate, 
a  land  of  endless  prairie,  brown  from  the  scorching 
heat  of  summer  and  varied  only  by  abrupt  and  sav- 
age hills,  known  to  the  cowboys  as  buttes.  In  the 
river-bottoms  were  waving  cotton  wood-trees ;  in  the 
scarred  uplands,  cut  by  canons,  here  and  there  bleak 
and  twisted  cedars.  There  was  no  soft  loveliness  in 
this  country,  but  there  was  about  it  a  stark  beauty 
that  made  it  a  fit  background  for  the  men  who 
lived  and  worked  and  suffered  hardship  in  it. 

People  called  it  the  Bad  Lands,  not  without  reason, 
for  winter  and  summer  did  their  worst  there.  It  was 
a  land  of  enormous  distances,  with  no  farms  and  no 
fences,  only  at  wide  intervals  ranch-houses,  where 
the  men  lived  whose  herds  grazed  over  the  prairie 
through  the  summers,  and  congregated  in  huddled, 
shivering,  unhappy  herds  in  the  shelter  of  the  canons 
through  the  winters.  Roosevelt  saw  the  long-horned 
cattle  grazing  by  hundreds  and  thousands  along  the 

92 


HIS    FIRST    REAL    HUNT 

fertile  river-bottoms.  He  saw  the  cowboys  dashing 
about  them  recklessly  on  their  half -broken  ponies. 
He  talked  with  the  ranchmen.  The  life  they  led 
allured  him.  He  wanted  with  all  his  heart  to  share 
it,  to  feel  that  he  was  a  comrade  of  such  men  as  these. 

He  inquired  whether  he  could  buy  Chimney  Butte 
Ranch.  He  found  that  he  could ;  and  less  than  three 
weeks  after  that  early  autumn  morning  when  he 
had  descended  from  the  train  at  Medora  he  signed 
the  deeds  of  purchase  and  engaged  Merrifield  as 
foreman.  He  returned  East,  strengthened  in  body 
and  spirit. 

He  was  re-elected  to  the  Legislature  in  November 
and  plunged  into  his  work  with  new  vigor  and  a  more 
solid  self-reliance.  He  ardently  supported  civil- 
service  reform;  he  was  chairman  of  a  committee 
which  investigated  certain  phases  of  New  York  City 
official  life,  and  carried  through  the  Legislature  a  bill 
taking  from  the  Board  of  Aldermen  the  power  to 
confirm  the  Mayor's  appointments.  He  was  chair- 
man and  practically  the  only  active  member  of  an- 
other committee  to  investigate  living  conditions  in 
the  tenements  of  New  York,  and,  as  spokesman  of 
the  worn  and  sad-looking  foreigners  who  constituted 
the  Cigar-Makers'  Union,  argued  before  Governor 
Cleveland  for  the  passage  of  a  bill  to  prohibit  the 
manufacture  of  cigars  in  tenement-houses. 

The  bill  was  passed.  The  Governor  signed  it. 
But  it  never  became  operative.  The  Court  of  Ap- 
peals declared  it  unconstitutional,  declaring  it  an 
assault  on  "the  hallowed  associations  of  home"! 
Many  of  those  homes  consisted  of  a  single  room, 

93 


THEODORE    ROOSEVELT 

where  two  families,  sometimes  with  a  boarder  or 
two,  lived  and  ate  and  worked! 

Theodore  Roosevelt  raged  at  the  injustice,  at  the 
absurdity  of  the  decision,  and  began  to  wonder 
whether  in  such  matters  the  people  rather  than  the 
judges  should  not  speak  the  final  word. 

For  two  years  Roosevelt  had  now  worked  in  £he 
Legislature,  learning  much  of  politics  and  of  life  and 
growing  day  by  day  in  character  and  vision  and 
spirit.  He  saw,  he  could  not  help  seeing,  that  he  was 
making  a  striking  success  in  politics.  He  realized 
that  there  was  a  possibility  that  he  might  have 
ahead  of  him  a  great  career.  With  a  little  care  in 
the  choice  of  associates,  with  a  little  circumspection 
in  his  actions,  he  said  to  himself,  perhaps  .  .  . 

He  began  to  adapt  everything  he  said  and  did  to 
the  requirements  of  political  nursing.  "How  will 
this  affect  my  career?"  he  began  to  say  to  himself. 
"How  will  that  further  or  hinder  my  career?" 

He  nursed  along  his  career  for  one  month  and  for 
one  month  only.  Then,  in  utter  disgust  with  himself, 
he  decided  one  day  that  if  such  careful  time-serving 
were  the  price  of  a  "career,"  he  would  not  have  a 
"career"  for  all  the  glory  in  the  world. 

It  was  vastly  more  useful,  he  decided,  to  do  his 
day's  work  as  it  came  along,  and  very  much  more 
fun. 

Life  was  running,  on  the  whole,  very  smoothly 
for  Theodore  Roosevelt  when  in  January,  1884,  he 
entered  upon  his  third  term  in  the  Legislature.  He 
was  only  twenty-five  years  old  and  he  was  one  of 
the  leading  political  figures  in  his  state,  with  promo- 

94 


REFORM  WITHOUT  BLOODSHED 

Governor  Cleveland  and  Theodore  Roosevelt  at  their  good  work, 
From  Harper's   Weekly,  April  19,  1884 


THEODORE   ROOSEVELT 

tion  to  Congress  in  sight,  if  he  wanted  it.  He  was 
happily  married,  he  was  finding  a  place  for  himself 
socially  among  congenial  friends,  he  had  wealth,  he 
had  a  notable  book  on  the  War  of  1 8 1 2  to  his  credit — 

Then,  suddenly,  without  warning,  he  was'  smitten. 

On  February  12th,  at  ten  o'clock  in  the  morning, 
his  wife  gave  birth  to  a  daughter.  At  four  o'clock 
the  following  morning  his  mother  died.  Six  hours 
later  his  wife  died. 

He  was  stunned  and  dazed. 

"But  he  stood  right  up  under  it,"  said  Joe  Murray, 
a  long  time  after. 

"It  was  a  grim  and  an  evil  fate,"  Roosevelt  wrote 
to  Bill  Sewall  in  March,  "but  I  have  never  believed 
it  did  any  good  to  flinch  or  yield  for  any  blow,  nor 
does  it  lighten  the  blow  to  cease  from  working." 

He  did  not  cease.  He  took  up  his  labors  in  the 
Legislature  and  threw  himself  so  completely  into  the 
reform  legislation  of  Governor  Cleveland  that,  two 
months  after  that  tragic  day  in  February,  Harper's 
Weekly  paid  tribute  to  his  efforts  in  one  of  Nast's 
memorable  cartoons. 

In  June  he  was  a  delegate  to  the  Republican 
national  convention  at  Chicago  to  nominate  a  Presi- 
dential candidate.  Blaine  was  the  favorite,  but 
Blaine  stood  for  all  that  seemed  to  Roosevelt  least 
progressive  in  the  Republican  party.  Roscoe  Conk- 
ling,  who  led  the  fight  for  Blaine,  spoke  scornfully 
of  "that  dentificial  young  man  with  more  teeth 
than  brains";  but  George  William  Curtis,  who  was 
also  a  delegate,  prophesied  a  great  future  for  him. 
Roosevelt  fought  in  the  convention  for  Edmunds. 

96 


HIS    FIRST   REAL   HUNT 

His  candidate  was  defeated.  Blaine  secured  the 
nomination. 

Many  of  his  associates,  among  them  some  of  the 
greatest  men  in  the  Republican  party,  "bolted  the 
ticket,"  refusing  to  support  Blaine.  They  called  upon 
Roosevelt  to  follow  them. 

He  refused.  He  had  disapproved  of  Blaine;  he 
had,  as  he  wrote  to  a  critic  in  October,  "worked 
practically  to  prevent  it,"  and  he  considered  his 
nomination  a  grave  mistake.  But  he  was  a  member 
of  the  Republican  party,  he  believed  in  its  principles, 
and,  as  a  citizen  of  a  democracy,  he  considered  it 
his  duty  to  stand  by  the  result  of  a  fair  vote  even 
when  it  went  against  him. 

Friends  and  foes  taunted  him.  Where  now,  they 
cried,  was  his  fine  enthusiasm  for  reform,  for  civil 
service?  "Roosevelt  wants  to  climb  in  politics,"  they 
cried,  "and  he  isn't  going  to  antagonize  the  ma- 
chine." 

He  let  them  talk  and  stood  by  his  guns  and,  when 
the  convention  was  over,  fled,  lonely  and  sick  at 
heart,  into  the  wilderness. 

7 


CHAPTER  VII 

HE    LOOKS   FOR   ADVENTURES   AND   FINDS   THEM 

THEODORE  ROOSEVELT  went  to  Dakota 
straight  from  the  Chicago  convention,  arriving 
at  Chimney  Butte  Ranch  about  the  middle  of  June. 
The  country  was  at  its  best,  with  the  bright  young 
grass  in  one  unbroken  carpet  over  the  prairie,  and 
here  and  there  in  daubs  of  vivid  green  on  the  dark 
red  and  purple  of  the  buttes. 

Roosevelt  now  entered  with  heart  and  soul  on  the 
work  of  a  ranchman.  The  most  exacting  work  of 
the  season,  the  spring  round-up,  had  been  completed, 
but  there  were  other  smaller  round-ups  nearer  home 
and  no  lack  at  any  time  of  other  work.  He  was  in 
the  saddle  from  morning  until  night,  riding  among 
the  cattle,  hunting  stray  horses  (and  they  were  al- 
ways straying) ,  breaking  ponies,  cutting  wood,  vary- 
ing the  day's  toil  only  by  an  occasional  excursion 
at  dawn  or  dusk  after  water-fowl  or  grouse,  when 
salt  pork  became  wearisome. 

The  vigorous  outdoor  life  in  a  wild  country  amid 
hardy  men  thrilled  Theodore  Roosevelt  to  the  depths. 
Beside  it  the  life  of  politics  and  society  seemed  for 
the  moment  unreal  and  utterly  valueless.  His  double 

98 


HE    LOOKS    FOR    ADVENTURES 

bereavement  had  made  the  very  intercourse  with 
acquaintances  and  friends  of  the  happy  former  times 
a  source  of  renewed  pain.  His  little  daughter  Alice 
was  living  with  "Bamie"  in  the  house  on  Fifty- 
seventh  Street.  Soon  that  house  was  to  be  closed. 
The  old  home  and  the  home  that  had  been  his  during 
the  first  years  of  his  married  life  were  both  gone. 
He  determined  that  he  would  build  a  new  home  in 
surroundings  that  had  no  painful  memories.  Forty 
miles  north  of  Chimney  Butte,  where  the  Little 
Missouri  took  a  long  swing  westward  through  a  fer- 
tile bottom  bordered  along  its  mile  or  two  of  length 
by  sheer  cliff  walls,  on  a  low  bluff  surmounted  by 
cotton  wood- trees,  he  found  the  bleached  interlocked 
antlers  of  two  great  elk;  and  there  he  determined 
to  build  his  house. 

He  went  East  in  the  first  days  of  July  to  take  what 
part  he  could  in  the  Presidential  campaign  and  to 
make  final  arrangements  with  Bill  Sewall  and  Will 
Dow,  whom  he  had  urged  as  early  as  March  to  try 
their  fortunes  in  Dakota. 

Sewall  had  come  to  New  York  late  the  same 
month,  elated  at  the  prospect.  On  his  return  to  the 
East,  early  in  July,  Roosevelt  wrote  him  once  more: 

Now,  a  little  plain  talk,  though  I  do  not  think  it  necessary, 
for  I  know  you  too  well.  If  you  are  afraid  of  hard  work  and 
privation,  do  not  come  West.  If  you  expect  to  make  a  fortune 
in  a  year  or  two,  do  not  come  West.  If  you  will  give  up  under 
temporary  discouragements,  do  not  come  West.  If,  on  the 
other  hand,  you  are  willing  to  work  hard,  especially  the  first 
year;  if  you  realize  that  for  a  couple  of  years  you  cannot  expect 
to  make  much  more  than  you  are  now  making;    and  if  you 

99 


THEODORE    ROOSEVELT 

also  know  that  at  the  end  of  that  time  you  will  be  in  receipt  of 
about  a  thousand  dollars  for  the  third  year,  with  an  unlimited 
rise  ahead  of  you  and  a  future  as  bright  as  you  yourself  choose 
to  make  it — then  come.  Now  I  take  it  for  granted  you  will 
not  hesitate  at  this  time.  So  fix  up  your  affairs  at  once,  and  be 
ready  to  start  before  the  end  of  this  month. 

Sewall  did  not  hesitate;  nor  did  Dow.  They  left 
New  York  with  Roosevelt  the  last  day  of  July,  ar- 
riving at  Chimney  Butte  the  5th  of  August. 

Sewall's  eyes  gleamed  at  the  wildness  of  the  coun- 
try, but  he  turned  that  evening  to  Roosevelt  with 
a  troubled  look.  "You  won't  make  any  money  rais- 
ing cattle  in  this  country,",  he  remarked. 

"Bill,  you  don't  know  anything  about  it!"  retorted 
Theodore  the  younger. 

Bill  laughed.  "Well,  I  guess  that's  just  about 
right,  too,"  he  said. 

They  remained  at  Chimney  Butte  two  days,  and 
then  rode  north  forty  miles  to  Elkhorn,  the  new 
ranch,  driving  a  hundred  head  of  cattle  before  them, 
now  following  the  dry  river-bed,  now  branching  off 
inland,  crossing  the  great  plateaus  and  winding 
through  the  ravines  of  the  broken  country.  There 
was  already  a  shack  on  the  new  ranch,  a  primitive 
affair  with  a  dirt  roof,  which  Sewall  and  Dow  now 
made  their  headquarters. 

The  cattle  that  Roosevelt  and  his  friends  from 
Maine  had  driven  down  the  river  from  Chimney 
Butte  were  intended  to  be  the  nucleus  of  the  Elkhorn 
herd.  They  were  young  grade  short-horns  of  East- 
ern origin,  less  wild  than  the  long-horn  Texas  steers, 
but  liable,  on  new  ground,  to  stray  off  and  be  lost 

100 


HE    LOOKS    FOR    ADVENTURES 

in  the  innumerable  coulees  round  about.  So  each 
night  the  three  men,  aided  by  some  expert  like  Merri- 
field,  "bedded"  them  down  on  the  level  bottom,  one 
or  the  other  of  them  riding  slowly  and  quietly  round 
and  round  the  herd,  heading  off  and  turning  back 
into  it  all  that  tried  to  stray.  This  was  not  altogether 
a  simple  business,  for  there  was  danger  of  stampede 
in  making  the  slightest  unusual  noise.  Now  and  then 
they  would  call  to  the  cattle  softly  as  they  rode,  or 
sing  to  them  until  the  steers  had  all  lain  down,  close 
together.  And  even  then,  at  times,  one  of  the  men 
would  stay  on  guard,  riding  round  and  round  the 
herd,  calling  and  singing. 

There  was  something  magical  in  the  strange  sound 
of  it  in  the  clear  air  under  the  stars. 

The  cattle  had  accustomed  themselves  to  their 
new  surroundings  by  the  end  of  the  month,  and 
Roosevelt  went  south  with  Merrifield  and  the  men 
from  Maine  to  attend  a  round-up  in  the  great  cattle 
country  west  of  the  Little  Missouri.  They  took  the 
wagon,  following  the  old  Fort  Keogh  trail.  Cattle 
had  a  way  of  straying  far  in  the  summers  in  their 
eagerness  for  green  grass,  and  the  search,  in  this 
case,  carried  Roosevelt  and  his  party  across  south- 
eastern Montana  and  half-way  across  Wyoming  to 
the  very  base  of  the  Big  Horn  Mountains  where 
eight  years  previously  Custer  had  been  killed.  Those 
mountains  offered  Roosevelt  a  temptation  not  to 
be  resisted.  Sewall  and  Dow  were  off  with  the 
round-up,  "cutting  out"  cattle  that  bore  the  Mal- 
tese cross  or  the  triangle  brand  of  the  Roosevelt 
ranches.      His   interests,    therefore,    were    in   good 

IOI 


THEODORE    ROOSEVELT 

hands.  He  left  the  wagon  on  the  first  ridge  of  the 
Big  Horn  Mountains,  and  with  Merrifield,  and  a 
weather-beaten  old  plainsman  "with  an  inexhaustible 
fund  of  misinformation"  as  teamster  of  his  pack- 
train,  started  into  the  mountains  for  a  fortnight's 
hunt. 

They  followed  an  old  Indian  trail,  ascending 
through  the  dense  pine  woods  where  the  trunks  rose 
like  straight  columns,  close  together,  and  up  the  sides 
of  rocky  gorges,  driving  the  pack-train  with  endless 
difficulty  over  fallen  timber  and  along  ticklish  ridges. 
They  pitched  their  camp  at  last  beside  a  beautiful, 
clear  mountain  brook  that  ran  through  a  glade 
ringed  by  slender  pines;  and  from  there  hunted 
among  the  peaks  round  about.  The  weather  was 
clear  and  cold,  with  thin  ice  covering  the  dark  waters 
of  the  mountain  tarns,  and  now  and  again  slight 
snowfalls  that  made  the  forest  gleam  and  glisten  in 
the  moonlight  like  fairyland.  Through  the  frosty 
air  they  could  hear  the  vibrant,  musical  note  of  the 
bull  elk  far  off,  calling  to  the  cows  or  challenging 
one  another. 

No  country  could  have  been  better  adapted  to  still 
hunting  than  the  great,  pine-clad  mountains,  studded 
with  open  glades.  Roosevelt  loved  the  thrill  of  the 
chase,  but  he  loved  no  less  the  companionship  of 
the  majestic  trees  and  the  shy  wild  creatures  which 
sprang  across  his  path  or  ran  with  incredible  swift- 
ness along  the  overhanging  boughs.  Moving  on 
noiseless  moccasins,  he  caught  alluring  glimpses  of 
the  inner  life  of  the  mountains. 

In  the  patch  of  burnt  ground  they  came  upon  the 
102 


HE   LOOKS    FOR   ADVENTURES 

mark  of  elk  hoofs,  and  almost  instantly  saw  three 
bull  elk  not  a  hundred  yards  away.  Roosevelt  had 
been  running  briskly  uphill  through  the  heavy 
loam  and  was  breathing  heavily.  He  fired  and 
missed.  The  elk  trotted  off,  evidently  not  much 
perturbed.  Roosevelt,  with  Merrifield  at  his  side, 
raced  after  them  at  full  speed,  opening  fire.  He 
wounded  all  three,  without  disabling  any.  The  elk 
trotted  on  and  the  men  panted  after,  slipping  on  the 
wet  earth,  pitching  headlong  over  charred  stumps, 
leaping  on  dead  logs  that  broke  beneath  their  weight, 
firing  when  they  saw  a  chance. 

One  bull  fell.  They  passed  him,  pursuing  the 
others. 

The  sweat  streamed  into  Roosevelt's  eyes  and  he 
sobbed  for  breath  as  he  struggled  after  the  fleeing 
animals.  To  his  relief,  they  turned  downhill.  With 
a  last  spurt  he  closed  in  near  enough  to  fire  again. 
One  elk  fell.  The  last  went  off  at  a  walk.  Roosevelt 
kept  on.  The  elk  disappeared  into  a  patch  of  young 
evergreens.  He  rushed  in  on  it  and  fired  at  a  yellow 
body  plunging  across  his  path.  Down  it  went.  He 
ran  up,  but  it  was  not  the  elk  he  had  been  pursuing. 
It  was  a  black-tail  deer.   The  elk  had  escapedr 

They  did  not  lack  for  venison  for  supper  that  night. 

The  next  afternoon,  Merrifield,  having  been  off 
alone,  returned  to  camp,  calling  from  a  distance  the 
long  "Eikoh-h-h!"  of  the  cattle-men  to  say  he  had 
good  news.  He  had,  in  fact,  the  carcass  of  a  black 
bear  behind  his  saddle;  but,  better  yet,  he  had  a 
report  of  grizzly-bear  signs  in  a  tangle  of  ravines 
some  ten  miles  away. 

103 


THEODORE    ROOSEVELT 

Roosevelt  decided  to  shift  camp  at  once,  and  by- 
noon  next  day  they  were  at  their  new  camp  in  a 
valley  with  steep  wooded  sides,  in  the  heart  of  the 
bear  region.  They  rigged  the  canvas  wagon-sheet 
into  a  small  tent,  sheltered  by  the  trees  from  the 
wind.  Round  about  were  the  vast  and  lonely  woods, 
their  silence  broken  now  and  again  by  the  strange 
noises  which  seem  to  mark  "the  sad  and  everlasting 
unrest  of  the  wilderness." 

That  afternoon,  on  a  crag  overlooking  a  wild 
ravine,  Roosevelt  shot  a  great  bull  elk.  Returning 
with  Merrifield  for  the  carcass  next  day,  they  found 
that  a  grizzly  had  been  feeding  on  it.  They  crouched 
in  hiding  for  the  bear's  return.  But  night  fell,  owls 
began  to  hoot  dismally  from  the  tops  of  the  tall 
trees,  and  a  lynx  wailed  from  the  depths  of  the 
woods,  but  the  bear  did  not  come. 

Early  next  morning  they  were  again  at  the  elk 
carcass.  The  bear  had  evidently  eaten  his  fill  during 
the  night.  His  tracks  were  clear,  and  they  followed 
them  noiselessly  over  the  yielding  carpet  of  moss 
and  pine  needles,  to  an  elk-trail  leading  into  a  tangled 
thicket  of  young  spruces. 

Suddenly  Merrifield  sank  on  one  knee,  turning 
half  round,  his  face  aflame  with  excitement.  Roose- 
velt strode  silently  past  him,  his  gun  "at  the  ready." 

There,  not  ten  steps  off,  was  the  great  bear,  slowly 
rising  from  his  bed  among  the  young  spruces.  He 
had  heard  the  hunters  and  reared  himself  on  his 
haunches.  Seeing  them,  he  dropped  again  on  all- 
fours,  and  the  shaggy  hair  on  his  neck  and  shoulders 
bristled  as  he  turned  toward  them, 

?c>4 


HE    LOOKS    FOR   ADVENTURES 

Roosevelt  aimed  fairly  between  the  small,  glitter- 
ing, evil  eyes,  and.  fired.  The  huge  beast  half  rose, 
fell  over  and  was  dead. 

The  hunters  broke  camp  the  following  morning 
and  in  single  file  moved  down  through  the  woods 
and  across  the  canons  to  the  edge  of  the  great  table- 
land, then  slowly  down  the  steep  slope  to  its  foot, 
where  they  found  the  canvas-topped  wagon.  Next 
day  they  set  out  on  the  three-hundred-mile  journey 
home  to  Chimney  Butte. 

It  was  long  and  weary  traveling  across  the  desolate 
reaches  of  burnt  prairie  over  which,  day  after  day, 
Roosevelt  galloped  now  in  this  direction,  now  in 
that,  on  the  lookout  for  game,  while  the  heavy  wagon 
lumbered  on.  At  last,  after  many  days,  they 
reached  a  strange  and  romantic  region  of  isolated 
buttes  of  sandstone,  cut  by  the  weather  into  most 
curious  caves  and  columns,  battlements,  spires,  and 
flying  buttresses.  It  was  a  beautiful  and  fantastic 
place  and  they  made  their  camp  there. 

The  moon  was  full  and  the  night  clear,  and  the 
flame  of  the  camp-fire  leaped  up  the  cliffs,  so  that 
the  weird,  carved  shapes  seemed  alive.  Outside  the 
circle  of  the  fire  the  cliffs  shone  like  silver  under  the 
moon,  throwing  grotesque  shadows. 

It  was  like  a  country  seen  in  a  dream. 

The  next  morning  all  was  changed.  A  wild  gale 
was  blowing  and  rain  beat  about  them  in  level  sheets. 
They  spent  a  miserable  day  and  night  shifting  from 
shelter  to  shelter  with  the  shifting  wind;  another 
day  and  another  night.  Their  provisions  were  al- 
most gone,  the  fire  refused  to  burn  in  the  fierce 

i°5 


THEODORE    ROOSEVELT 

downpour,  the  horses  drifted  far  off  before  the 
storm.  .  .  . 

The  third  day  dawned  clear  and  crisp,  and  once 
more  the  wagon  lumbered  on.  That  night  they 
camped  by  a  dry  creek  on  a  broad  bottom  covered 
with  thick  parched  grass.  To  make  sure  that  their 
camp-fire  would  not  set  the  surrounding  grass  alight, 
they  burned  a  circle  clear  and  stood  about  with 
branches  to  keep  the  flames  in  check.  Suddenly 
there  came  a  puff  of  wind.  The  fire  roared  like  a 
wild  beast  as  it  started  up.  They  fought  it  furiously, 
but  it  seemed  that  they  were  fighting  it  in  vain.  In 
five  minutes,  they  told  themselves,  the  whole  bot- 
tom would  be  a  blazing  furnace.  Their  hair  and 
eyebrows  were  singed  dry  before  they  subdued  the 
flames  at  last. 

They  were  three  days  from  home,  three  days  of 
crawling  voyaging  beside  the  fagged  team.  The  coun- 
try was  monotonous,  moreover,  without  much  game. 
After  supper  that  night  Roosevelt  concluded  to  press 
ahead  of  the  wagon,  with  Merrifield,  and  ride  the 
full  distance  before  dawn. 

At  nine  o'clock  they  saddled  the  tough  little  ponies 
they  had  ridden  all  day  and  rode  off  out  of  the 
circle  of  firelight.  The  September  air  was  cool  in  their 
faces  as  they  loped  steadily  mile  after  mile  under 
the  moonlight,  and  then  under  the  starlight,  over  the 
rolling  plains  that  stretched  on  all  sides.  Now  and 
again  bands  of  antelope  swept  silently  away  from 
before  their  path,  and  once  a  drove  of  long-horn 
Texas  cattle  charged  by,  the  ground  rumbling  be- 
neath their  tread.   The  first  glow  of  the  sunrise  was 

1 06 


HE    LOOKS    FOR    ADVENTURES 

flaming  up  behind  the  level  bluffs  of  Chimney  Butte 
as  they  galloped  down  into  the  valley  of  the  Little 
Missouri. 

Roosevelt  went  East  again  late  in  September  to  do 
what  he  could  in  an  uninspiring  campaign  to  help 
elect  Blaine  President.  But  Cleveland  was  victorious 
and  Roosevelt,  resigning  himself  to  a  fact  that  no 
effort  of  his  could  now  alter,  returned  to  Dakota. 

Sewall  and  Dow  were  at  Elkhorn,  busy  cutting 
the  timber  for  the  new  house,  which  was  to  stand 
under  the  shade  of  a  row  of  cottonwood-trees  over- 
looking the  broad,  shallow  bed  of  the  Little  Missouri. 
They  were  both  mighty  men  with  the  ax.  Roosevelt 
himself  was  no  amateur,  but  he  could  not  compete 
with  the  stalwart  backwoodsmen. 

One  evening  he  overheard  one  of  the  cowboys 
ask  Dow  what  the  day's  cut  had  been.  "Well,  Bill 
cut  down  fifty-three,"  answered  Dow,  "I  cut  forty- 
nine,  and  the  boss,"  he  added,  dryly,  not  realizing 
that  Roosevelt  was  within  hearing — -"the  boss  he 
beavered  down  seventeen." 

Roosevelt  remembered  a  tree-stump  he  had  seen 
recently,  gnawed  down  by  a  beaver,  and  grinned. 

It  was  while  Roosevelt  was  working  with  his  men, 
cutting  timber  and  clearing  brush  for  the  new  house, 
that  peremptory  word  came  from  .a  neighboring 
ranchman,  sharply  asserting  that  Roosevelt  was 
building  on  his  range  and  would  do  well  to  desist. 
The  man  who  sent  this  message  was  a  Frenchman, 
the  Marquis  de  Mores.  He  had  been  the  first  cattle- 
man in  the  region,  having  squatted  on  territory  of 

107 


THEODORE    ROOSEVELT 

the  government  and  of  the  Northern  Pacific,  and 
had  more  than  once  shown  evidence  that  he  re- 
garded himself  rather  as  the  "lord  of  the  manor" 
in  the  European  sense.  He  had  had  some  sheep  on 
the  range  on  which  Roosevelt  had  squatted,  and  had 
already  fought  two  men  off  it. 

Roosevelt  answered  calmly  that  there  was  nothing 
of  the  Marquis's  on  the  land  but  dead  sheep  and  he 
didn't  think  that  they  would  hold  it. 

The  Marquis  sent  no  reply.  This  was  curious, 
for  Maunders,  one  of  his  chief  assistants,  and  the 
ranch  crew  under  him,  were  known  as  a  "rough 
crowd"  who  had  been  involved  in  more  than  one 
shooting-affair. 

A  spell  of  bitter  weather  interrupted  the  work  on 
the  house.  Possibly  the  Marquis  assumed  that  the 
young  gentleman  with  the  spectacles  had  decided 
to  back  down. 

"You'd  better  be  on  the  lookout,"  Roosevelt  re- 
marked to  Sewall  and  Dow.  "There's  just  a  chance 
there  may  be  trouble." 

' '  I  cal'late  we  can  look  out  for  ourselves,"  answered 
Bill,  with  a  gleam  in  his  eye. 

Winter  now  settled  down  over  the  Bad  Lands  in 
earnest.  There  was  little  snow,  but  the  cold  was 
fierce  in  its  intensity.  By  day,  the  plains  and  buttes 
were  dazzling  to  the  eye  under  the  clear  weather; 
by  night,  the  trees  cracked  and  groaned  from  the 
strain  of  the  biting  frost.  Even  the  stars  seemed  to 
snap  and  glitter.  The  river  lay  fixed  in  its  shining 
bed  of  glistening  white,  "like  a  huge  bent  bar  of 

108 


HE    LOOKS    FOR   ADVENTURES 

blue  steel."  Wolves,  and  lynxes  traveled  up  and 
down  it  at  night  as  though  it  were  a  highway. 

Roosevelt  was  now  living  mainly  at  Chimney 
Butte,  writing  somewhat  and  reading  much,  sharing 
fully  meanwhile  in  the  hardship  of  the  winter  work. 
It  was  not  always  pleasant  to  be  out  of  doors,  but 
the  herds  had  to  be  carefully  watched  and  every 
day  (which  began  with  breakfast  at  five — three  hours 
before  sunrise)  he  or  one  of  his  men  was  in  the  sad- 
dle from  dawn  to  dark,  riding  about  among  them 
and  turning  back  any  herd  that  seemed  to  be  strag- 
gling toward  the  open  plains.  In  the  open  country 
there  was  always  a  strong  wind  that  never  failed  to 
freeze  ears  or  fingers  or  toes,  in  spite  of  flannels  and 
furs.  The  cattle  suffered  much,  standing  huddled 
in  the  bushes  in  the  ravines ;  and  some  of  the  young 
stock  died  of  exposure. 

During  the  severest  weather  Ferris  and  Merrifield, 
whom  Roosevelt  had  sent  out  to  buy  ponies,  re- 
turned with  fifty  which  had  to  be  broken  then  and 
there.  Day  after  day  in  the  icy  cold  Roosevelt  labored 
with  his  men  in  the  corral  over  the  refractory  ani- 
mals, making  up  in  patience  what  he  lacked  in 
physical  address.  He  did  not  find  this  business  alto- 
gether pleasant,  and  the  presence  of  a  gallery  of 
grinning  cowboys,  gathered  "to  see  whether  the  high- 
headed  bay  could  buck  the  boss  off,"  did  not  make 
it  any  easier  to  preserve  a  look  of  smiling  indiffer- 
ence while  the  panic-stricken  pony  went  through 
his  gyrations. 

The  high -headed  bay  did  buck  the  boss  off;  and 
he  wasn't  the  only  one  who  did.    But  it  is  worth 

1 09 


THEODORE    ROOSEVELT 

remarking  that  in  the  end  it  was  not  the  boss,  but 
the  pony,  who  was  "broken." 

Roosevelt  went  East  again  shortly  before  Christ- 
mas, returning  in  April.  He  found  Sewall  and  Dow, 
in  their  quiet,  self-contained  way,  in  an  adventurous 
state  of  mind. 

"People  are  breathing  out  slaughter  against  us 
folk,"  said  Bill  Sewall. 

"What  for?"  asked  Roosevelt,  sharply. 

"It's  that  Frenchman's  outfit,"  said  Sewall. 

"I  thought  there 'd  be  trouble  there." 

"Maunders — he's  the  boss  trouble-maker  of  the 
Frenchman's  outfit — he  says  he  wants  to  shoot  you," 
said  Sewall. 

This  was  decidedly  interesting.  Maunders  was 
known  as  a  good  shot,  and  had,  in  fact,  recently 
killed  a  man. 

Roosevelt  went  out  to  the  corral,  roped  and  sad- 
dled his  horse,  and  rode  to  Maunders's  shack.  Maun- 
ders was  there.     Roosevelt  rode  up  to  him. 

"I  hear  that  you  want  to  shoot  me,"  he  said, 
quietly.     "I  came  over  to  find  out  why." 

After  a  brief  conversation  it  appeared  that  Maun- 
ders did  not,  after  all,  want  to  shoot  him.  He 
had  been  "misquoted."  They  parted,  excellent 
friends. 

The  animosity  of  the  Marquis's  "outfit"  to  the 
men  at  Elkhorn  Ranch,  however,  was  not  allayed  by 
this  interview.  One  day,  on  a  round-up  in  the  neigh- 
borhood, Dow  overheard  one  of  the  Marquis's  men 
remarking  to  another  that  "there'd  be  some  dead 
men  round  that  Elkhorn  shack  some  day." 


HE    LOOKS    FOR   ADVENTURES 

Dow  told  Sewall.  Roosevelt,  it  happened,  was  at 
Chimney  Butte. 

"Well,"  drawled  Bill,  "if  there's  going  to  be  any- 
dead  men  hereabouts  I  cal'late  we  can  fix  it  so  it 
won't  be  us." 

A  day  or  two  after,  one  of  the  Marquis's  men  rode 
to  where  they  were  cutting  timber.  "There's  a  vigi- 
lance committee  around,  I  hear,"  he  remarked, 
casually.  "They  got  a  young  fellow  recently  what 
was  on  foot,  and,  reckoning  that  he  was  probably 
getting  ready  to  steal  a  horse,  they  strung  him  up 
so  his  feet  just  touched  the  ground.  They  wanted 
him  to  confess.  But  he  said  he  didn't  have  nothing 
he  could  confess.  It  was  too  bad  about  him.  You 
haven't  seen  the  vigilance  committee  about,  have 
you?  I  hear  they're  considering  making  a  call  on 
you  folks." 

The  men  from  Maine  said  to  each  other  that  the 
thing  began  to  look  "smoky."  They  carried  rifles 
and  revolvers  after  that  when  they  went  to  cut 
timber. 

The  vigilantes  did  not  come,  but  six  of  the  Mar- 
quis's men  did,  heralding  their  arrival  with  revolver- 
shots  in  the  air.  It  was  Sunday  morning.  Sewall 
was  alone.  Unostentatiously  his  hand  fell  on  his 
gun  and  remained  there.  He  invited  them  into  the 
shack  to  have  some  beans. 

"The  boss  of  the  gang  had  been  drinking,"  said 
Sewall,  telling  Roosevelt  about  it  later.  "He  had  a 
good  appetite,  so  I  got  all  the  beans  into  him  I 
could,  to  make  him  feel  good.  I  guess  he  finally 
decided  I  wasn't  worth  shooting." 

in 


THEODORE    ROOSEVELT 

But  the  Marquis  de  Mores  and  his  men  were  on 
the  war-path.  Less  than  a  week  later  they  ambushed 
three  men  who,  they  declared,  were  trespassing  on 
the  Marquis's  range,  killing  one  of  them.  Maunders 
was  supposed  to  have  fired  the  fatal  shot,  but  a 
curious  streak  of  vanity  in  the  Marquis  made  him 
claim  the  honor  of  the  misdeed.  Both  men  were 
indicted,  for  there  were  limits  to  lawlessness,  even  in 
Dakota.  One  of  the  men  who  had  escaped,  a  Dutch- 
man named  Reuter,  was  called  as  a  witness  at  the 
trial  at  Medora.  He  had  previously  deposited  a 
certain  amount  of  money  with  Sylvane  Ferris  at 
Chimney  Butte,  for  safe-keeping.  On  his  way  to 
the  trial  he  withdrew  it.  The  Marquis  de  Mores 
heard  of  the  transaction  and  jumped  to  the  conclu- 
sion that  Roosevelt  was  backing  the  prosecution. 

He  wrote  Roosevelt  angrily.  He  had  supposed, 
he  said,  that  there  was  nothing  but  friendly  feeling 
between  himself  and  Roosevelt,  but,  since  it  was 
otherwise,  there  was  always  "a  way  of  settling  such 
differences  between  gentlemen." 

Roosevelt  read  the  letter  aloud.  "That's  a 
threat,"  he  said.  "He's  trying  to  bully  me.  He 
can't  bully  me.  I'm  going  to  write  him  a  letter 
myself." 

He  wrote  the  letter  and  brought  it  to  Sewall  for 
inspection.  He  had  no  unfriendly  feeling  for  the 
Marquis,  he  wrote,  "but,  as  the  closing  sentence  of 
your  letter  implies  a  threat,  I  feel  it  my  duty  to  say 
that  I  am  ready  at  all  times  and  all  places  to  answer 
for  my  actions." 

"Now,"  said  Roosevelt,  "I  expect  he'll  challenge 
112 


HE    LOOKS    FOR    ADVENTURES 

me.  I  don't  believe  in  fighting  duels.  My  friends 
don't  any  of  them  believe  in  it.  They  would  be  very 
much  opposed  to  anything  of  the  kind,  but  if  he 
challenges  me  I  shall  have  the  choice  of  weapons, 
which  will  be  quite  a  different  matter  than  if  I 
should  challenge  him  and  he  were  able  to  choose 
the  weapons,  which  would  probably  be  swords,  which 
he  can  use  and  I  can't.  If  he  does  challenge  me,  I 
shall  tell  him  that  I  choose  Winchesters  at  twelve 
paces,  shoot  and  advance,  until  one  or  the  other  gets 
enough."    He  paused.    "Then  we'll  see." 

Sewall  grunted.  "You'll  never  have  to  fight  any 
duel  of  that  kind  with  that  man,"  he  said.  "He 
won't  challenge  you.  He'll  find  some  way  out 
of  it." 

Roosevelt  was  not  at  all  sure  of  this.  The  Marquis 
was  a  bully,  but  he  was  no  coward. 

A  few  days  later  the  answer  came.  Roosevelt 
brought  it  over  to  Sewall. 

"You  were  right,  Bill,  about  the  Marquis,"  he 
said. 

It  seemed  that  the  Marquis,  though  a  game  man, 
recognized  that  now  and  then  discretion  was  the 
better  part  of  valor.  So  long  as  he  did  not  publicly 
lose  caste  or  incur  ridicule  by  backing  down,  he  did 
not  intend,  it  appeared,  to  run  the  risk  of  losing  his 
life  without  an  adequate  object. 

Sewall  read  the  letter.  The  Marquis  declared  that 
Roosevelt  had  completely  misconstrued  the  meaning 
of  his  message.  The  idea  he  had  meant  to  convey 
was  that  there  was  always  a  way  of  settling  affairs 
of  that  sort  between  gentlemen — without  trouble. 
8  113 


THEODORE    ROOSEVELT 

And  wouldn't  Mr.  Roosevelt  do  him  the  honor  of 
dining  with  him,  and  so  forth  and  so  on? 

And  so  it  came  about  that  there  was  profound 
peace  thereafter  between  the  herdsmen  of  Lot  and 
the  herdsmen  of  Abraham. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

SOME   FOLKS   FROM  MAINE  TURN  A  NEW  HOUSE  INTO 
A   NEW   HOME 

THE  ranch-house  was  completed  in  the  late 
spring.  It  was  a  spacious  place  for  that  region, 
and,  in  its  plain  fashion,  comfortable  and  homelike. 
It  was,  above  all,  "fit  for  women  folks,"  which  was 
more  than  could  be  said  of  the  shack  with  a  dirt 
roof  at  Chimney  Butte.  Wilmot  Dow  was  sent 
East  in  July  "to  fetch  them  out." 

They  came  in  early  August,  Will  Dow  with  his 
newly  wedded  bride,  escorting  Bill  Sewall's  wife 
and  three-year-old  daughter.  They  were  back- 
woodswomen,  self-reliant,  fearless,  high-hearted,  true 
mates  to  their  stalwart  men.  Before  Roosevelt  knew 
what  was  happening  they  had  turned  the  new  house 
into  a  home. 

And  now  for  them  all  began  a  season  of  deep  and 
quiet  contentment  that  was  to  remain  in  the  memo- 
ries of  all  of  them  as  a  kind  of  idyl.  It  was  a  life  of 
elemental  toil,  hardship,  and  danger,  and  of  strong, 
elemental  pleasures — rest  after  labor,  food  after  hun- 
ger, warmth  and  shelter  after  bitter  cold.  In  that 
life  there  was  no  room  for  distinctions  of  social  posi- 


THEODORE    ROOSEVELT 

tion  or  wealth.  They  respected  one  another  and 
cared  for  one  another  because  and  only  because 
each  knew  that  the  others  were  brave  and  loyal  and 
steadfast. 

Life  on  the  ranch  proved  a  more  joyous  thing  than 
ever,  after  the  women  had  taken  charge.  They  de- 
manded certain  necessities  at  once.  They  demanded 
chickens;  they  demanded  at  least  one  cow.  No  one 
had  thought  of  a  cow.  So  Roosevelt  and  Sewall  and 
Dow  between  them  roped  one  on  the  range  and 
threw  her,  and  sat  on  her,  and  milked  her  upside 
down,  which  was  not  altogether  satisfactory,  but 
was,  for  the  time  being,  the  best  thing  they  could  do. 
There  was  now  a  new  charm  in  shooting  game,  with 
women  at  home  to  cook  it.  And  Mrs.  Sewall  baked 
bread  that  was  not  at  all  like  the  bread  Bill  baked. 
Soon  she  was  even  baking  cake,  which  was  an  un- 
heard-of luxury  in  the  Bad  Lands.  Then,  after  a 
while,  the  buffalo  berries  and  wild  plums  began  to 
disappear  from  the  bushes  round  about  and  appear 
on  the  table  as  jam. 

"However  big  you  build  the  house,  it  won't  be 
big  enough  for  two  women,"  pessimists  had  re- 
marked. But  their  forebodings  were  not  realized. 
At  Elkhorn  no  cross  word  was  heard.  They  were, 
taken  altogether,  a  very  happy  family.  Roosevelt 
was  "the  boss,"  in  the  sense  that,  since  he  footed 
the  bills,  power  of  final  decision  was  his;  but  only 
in  that  sense.  He  saddled  his  own  horse;  now  and 
then  he  washed  his  own  clothes ;  he  fed  the  pigs ;  and 
once,  on  a  rainy  day,  he  blacked  the  Sunday  boots  of 
every  man,  woman,  and  child  in  the  place.    He  was 

116 


ELKHORN   RANCH   FROM   ACROSS   THE  LITTLE   MISSOURI    RIVER 


THE   RANCH-HOUSE 


A   NEW   HOME 

not  encouraged  to  repeat  that  performance.  The  folks 
from  Maine  made  it  quite  clear  that  if  the  boots 
needed  blacking  at  all,  which  was  doubtful,  they 
thought  some  one  else  ought  to  do  the  blacking — 
not  at  all  because  it  seemed  to  them  improper  that 
Roosevelt  should  black  anybody's  boots,  but  be- 
cause he  did  it  so  badly.  The  paste  came  off  on  every- 
thing it  touched.  The  women  "mothered"  him,  set- 
ting his  belongings  to  rights  at  stated  intervals,  for 
he  was  not  conspicuous  for  orderliness.  He,  in  turn, 
treated  the  women  with  the  friendliness  and  respect 
he  showed  to  the  women  of  his  own  family.  And 
the  little  Sewall  girl  was  never  short  of  toys. 

Elkhorn  Ranch  was  a  joyous  place  those  days. 
Cowboys,  hearing  of  it,  came  from  a  distance  for  a 
touch  of  home  life  and  the  luxury  of  hearing  a 
woman's  voice. 

The  summer  days  were  for  Roosevelt,  as  well  as 
for  his  men,  full  of  vigorous  toil,  beginning  before 
the  stars  had  fully  faded  out  of  the  sky  at  dawn 
and  ending  in  heavy  slumber  before  the  last  of  the 
sunset  had  been  swallowed  by  the  night.  He  was 
in  the  saddle  much  of  the  time,  working  among  the 
cattle,  salvaging  steers  mired  in  the  numerous  bog- 
holes  and  quicksands,  driving  in  calves  overlooked 
in  the  spring  branding,  breaking  ponies,  hunting. 
Meanwhile  he  was  writing  a  Life  of  Thomas  Hart 
Benton  for  the  "American  Statesmen  Series"  and 
was  preparing  for  the  press  a  remarkably  entertaining 
volume  of  hunting  experiences  called  Hunting  Trips 
of  a  Ranchman,  which  he  had  written  the  previous 
winter. 

117 


THEODORE    ROOSEVELT 

Much  of  the  time  he  was  away  from  the  ranch 
on  the  various  round-ups,  either  alone  or  with  as 
many  of  his  men  as  could  be  spared  from  the  daily 
chores  of  the  ranch.  He  enjoyed  enormously  the 
excitement  and  rough  but  hearty  comradeship  of 
these  round-ups,  which  brought  him  in  touch  with 
ranchmen  and  cowboys  from  hundreds  of  miles 
around.  The  work  was  hard  and  incessant  and  not 
without  danger  from  man  and  beast.  The  cattle 
never  harmed  him,  but  the  ponies  did.  He  was  a 
good,  but  not  extraordinary,  rider,  and  even  extraor- 
dinary riders  were  at  times  sent  over  the  heads  of 
their  ponies.  During  the  round-up  that  summer 
Roosevelt  was  bucked  off  more  than  once.  On  one 
occasion  the  point  of  his  shoulder  was  broken.  There 
were  no  surgeons  in  that  round-up.  The  shoulder 
had  to  mend  by  itself  as  well  as  it  could  while  its 
owner  went  about  his  work  as  usual. 

As  for  the  men,  with  them  Roosevelt  had  little 
trouble.  There  were  rough  characters  among  them 
and  his  spectacles  were  always  a  source  of  deep 
suspicion;  but  the  diplomacy  of  "do  your  job  and 
keep  your  mouth  shut"  kept  him,  as  a  rule,  out  of 
difficulties.  Arriving  at  a  strange  round-up  camp 
with  his  drove  of  eight  or  ten  ponies — always  late 
in  the  day,  if  possible,  so  that  the  horses  would  be 
ready  to  rest — he  reported  to  the  captain  of  the 
round-up,  and  then  to  whatever  wagon-boss  the 
captain  assigned  him,  or,  in  his  absence,  to  the 
cook,  a  privileged,  outspoken  character  always. 
Having  received  in  polite  silence  the  outburst  of  pro- 
fanity which  was  that  functionary's  habitual  form 

118 


A   NEW    HOME 

of  friendly  greeting,  he  deposited  his  roll  of  bedding 
a  little  outside  the  ring,  where  it  would  be  in  no 
one's  way,  ate  supper  in  silence,  turned  a  deaf  ear 
to  certain  derogatory  remarks  about  "four  eyes" 
which  were  sure  to  be  made  by  some  one  or  other, 
and  went  to  sleep.  Now  and  then  it  happened  that 
his  quiet  demeanor  was  misunderstood. 

There  was  one  man  at  one  of  the  round-ups,  a 
Texan,  who  insisted  on  "picking  on"  Roosevelt  as 
a  "dude."  Roosevelt  laughed.  But  the  man  con- 
tinued, in  season  and  out  of  season,  to  make  him  the 
butt  of  his  gibes. 

It  occurred  to  the  object  of  all  this  attention  that 
the  Texan  was  evidently  under  the  impression  that 
the  "dude"  was  also  a  coward.  Roosevelt  decided 
that,  for  the  sake  of  general  harmony,  that  impression 
had  better  be  corrected  at  once. 

One  evening,  when  the  man  was  being  particu- 
larly offensive,  Roosevelt  strode  up  to  him. 

"You're  talking  like  an  ass!"  he  said,  sharply,  and 
drew  his  gun.  "Put  up  or  shut  up!  Fight  now,  or 
be  friends!" 

The  Texan  stared,  his  shoulder  dropped  a  little, 
and  he  shifted  his  feet.  "I  didn't  mean  any  harm," 
he  said.    "Make  it  friends." 

They  shook  hands,  and  a  little  later  the  Texan 
joined  the  Elkhorn  "outfit." 

The  day's  work  on  the  round-up  commenced  at 
three  in  the  morning  with  a  yell  from  the  cook,  and 
lasted  until  sundown  or  after,  and  not  infrequently 
the  whole  night  through.  All  day  Roosevelt  re- 
mained in  the  saddle.     The  morning — and  it  was 

119 


THEODORE    ROOSEVELT 

generally  eight  hours  long — was  given  to  "riding  the 
long  circle"  in  couples,  driving  into  the  wagon  camp 
whatever  cattle  had  been  found  in  the  hills.  The  af- 
ternoon was  spent  in  ' '  cutting  out ' '  of  the  herd  thus 
gathered  the  cattle  belonging  to  the  various  brands. 
This  was  difficult  and  dangerous  work.  Represent- 
atives of  each  brand  rode  in  succession  into  the  midst 
of  the  herd,  working  the  animal  they  were  after 
gently  to  the  edge,  then  with  a  sudden  dash  taking 
it  off  at  a  run.  The  calves  would  follow  their  moth- 
ers and  would  then  be  branded  with  the  mark  of  the 
owner  of  the  cow. 

At  night  there  was  occasionally  guard  duty,  a 
two  hours'  slow  patrol  about  the  restless  herd.  It 
was  monotonous  work,  and  in  stormy  weather  no 
joy  at  all;  but  on  clear,  warm  nights  Roosevelt, 
sleepy  as  he  was  from  the  day's  exertion,  was  not 
sorry  to  lope  through  the  lonely  silence  under  the 
stars,  listening  to  the  breathing  of  the  cattle,  alert 
every  instant  to  meet  whatever  emergency  might 
arise  from  out  that  dark,  moving  mass. 

One  night  there  was  a  heavy  storm.  Fearing  a 
stampede,  the  night  herders  sent  a  call  of  ' '  all  hands 
out."  Roosevelt  leaped  on  the  pony  he  always  kept 
picketed  near  him.  Suddenly  there  was  a  terrific  peal 
of  thunder.  The  lightning  struck  almost  into  the  herd 
itself,  and  with  heads  and  tails  high  the  panic- 
stricken  animals  plunged  off  into  the  blackness.  For 
an  instant  Roosevelt  could  distinguish  nothing  but 
the  dark  forms  of  the  cattle  rushing  by  him  like  a 
spring  freshet  on  both  sides.  The  herd  split,  half 
turning  off  to  the  left,  the  rest  thundering  on.      He 

J20 


A    NEW    HOME 

galloped  at  top  speed,  hoping  to  reach  the  leaders 
and  turn  them. 

He  heard  a  wild  splashing  ahead.  One  instant  he 
was  aware  that  the  cattle  in  front  of  him  and  beside 
him  were  disappearing;  the  next,  he  himself  was 
plunging  over  a  cut  bank  into  the  Little  Missouri. 
He  bent  far  back.  His  horse  almost  fell,  recovered 
himself,  plunged  forward,  and,  struggling  through 
water  and  quicksand,  made  the  other  side. 

For  a  second  he  saw  another  cowboy  beside  him. 
The  man  disappeared  in  the  darkness  and  the  deluge, 
and  Roosevelt  galloped  off  through  a  grove  of  cotton- 
woods  after  the  diminished  herd.  The  ground  was 
rough  and  full  of  pitfalls.  Twice  his  horse  turned  a 
somersault,  throwing  him.  At  last  the  cattle  came 
to  a  halt  and  after  one  more  half-hearted  stampede, 
as  the  white  dawn  came,  turned  reluctantly  back 
toward  camp. 

Roosevelt  gathered  in  stray  groups  of  cattle  as 
he  went,  driving  them  before  him.  After  a  while 
he  came  upon  a  cowboy  carrying  his  saddle  on  his 
head.  It  was  the  man  he  had  seen  for  a  flash  during 
the  storm.  His  horse  had  run  into  a  tree  and  been 
killed.    He  himself  had  escaped  by  a  miracle. 

The  men  in  the  camp  were  just  starting  on  the 
long  circle  when  Roosevelt  returned.  Only  half  the 
herd  had  been  brought  back,  they  said.  He  snatched 
a  hurried  breakfast,  leaped  on  a  fresh  horse,  and  again 
was  away  into  the  hills.  It  was  ten  hours  before  he 
was  back  at  the  wagon  camp  once  more  for  a  hasty 
meal  and  a  fresh  horse. 

When  he  went  to  sleep  that  night  he  had  been  in 

121 


THEODORE    ROOSEVELT 

the  saddle  forty  hours.  The  cow-punchers  decided 
that  "the  man  with  four  eyes"  "had  the  stuff"  in 
him. 

And  so,  quietly  "doing  his  job"  from  day  to  day, 
in  no  way  playing  on  his  position  or  his  wealth,  but 
accepting  the  discipline  of  the  camp  and  the  orders 
of  the  captain  of  the  round-up  as  every  other  self- 
respecting  cowboy  accepted  them,  Theodore  Roose- 
velt gradually  made  his  place  in  the  rough  world  of 
the  Bad  Lands.  He  was  not  a  crack  rider  or  a  fancy 
roper,  but  the  captain  of  the  round-up  learned  by 
and  by  that  if  a  cow  persisted  in  lying  down  in  a  thick 
patch  of  bulberry-bushes,  refusing  to  come  out, 
Roosevelt's  persistence  could  be  relied  on  to  outlast 
the  cow's.  At  the  end  of  the  day,  as  well  as  the 
beginning,  he  could  be  counted  on  to  do  the  unat- 
tractive task  that  fell  in  his  way.  That,  the  captain 
decided,  was  of  considerably  greater  importance  for 
the  success  of  a  round-up  than  any  handiness  with 
a  lariat. 

In  the  course  of  that  summer  Roosevelt  had  ample 
opportunity  to  show  the  metal  he  was  made  of.  It 
happened  that  he  was  frequently  forced  to  travel 
a  hundred  or  a  hundred  and  fifty  miles  from  his  own 
region,  in  pursuit  of  lost  horses.  On  one  of  these 
trips  he  arrived  at  a  small  cow  town  late  one  evening, 
stabled  his  horse  in  the  shed  behind  the  primitive 
little  hotel,  and  started  to  enter. 

Two  shots  rang  out  from  the  barroom. 

He  hesitated,  with  his  hand  on  the  door.  He  did 
not  quite  like  that  kind  of  welcome.  But  the  night 
was  chilly  and  there  was  nowhere  else  to  find  lodging. 

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A    NEW    HOME 

There  were  several  men  in  the  barroom  besides 
the  bartender,  all,  with  one  exception,  smiling  in  a 
way  that  suggested  that  they  would  rather  be  doing 
something  else.  The  exception  was  a  shabby-looking 
individual  in  a  broad-brimmed  hat  who  was  walking 
up  and  down  the  floor,  talking  and  swearing.  He 
had  a  cocked  gun  in  each  hand.  Roosevelt,  happen- 
ing to  glance  up  at  the  clock  as  he  entered,  noticed 
that  there  were  two  or  three  holes  in  its  face. 

"Four  eyes!"  shouted  the  bully  as  he  spied  Roose- 
velt. 

There  was  a  nervous  laugh  from  the  other  men, 
who  were  evidently  sheep -herders.  Roosevelt  joined 
in  the  laugh. 

"Four  eyes  is  going  to  treat,"  cried  the  man  with 
the  gun. 

There  was  another  laugh.  Under  cover  of  it 
Roosevelt  walked  quietly  to  a  chair  behind  the  stove 
and  sat  down,  hoping  to  escape  notice. 

But  the  bully  had  had  everything  his  own  way  so 
far  and  evidently  had  no  intention  of  being  put  off. 
Possibly  he  construed  the  new-comer's  quiet  bearing 
as  timidity.  He  crossed  the  room  to  where  Roose- 
velt was  sitting. 

"Four  eyes  is  going  to  treat!"  he  repeated. 

Roosevelt  passed  the  command  off  as  a  joke.  But 
the  bully  became  only  more  offensive.  He  leaned 
over  Roosevelt,  swinging  his  guns  and  ordering 
him  in  foul  language  to  "set  up  the  drinks  for  the 
crowd." 

It  occurred  to  Roosevelt  that  the  man  was  foolish 
to  stand  so  near,  with  his  heels  together.    "Well,  if 

123 


THEODORE    ROOSEVELT 

I've  got  to,  I've  got  to—"  he  said,  and  rose  to  his 
feet. 

As  he  rose  he  struck  quick  and  hard  with  his  right 
just  to  one  slide  of  the  point  of  the  jaw,  hitting  with 
his  left  as  he  straightened  out,  and  then  again  with 
his  right. 

The  bully  fired  both  guns,  but  the  bullets  went 
wide  as  he  fell  like  a  tree,  striking  the  corner  of  the 
bar  with  his  head.  Roosevelt  prepared  to  drop  on 
his  ribs  with  his  knees,  but  the  man  was  senseless. 
The  sheep-herders,  now  loud  in  their  denunciations, 
hustled  the  would-be  desperado  into  a  shed. 

Roosevelt  had  his  dinner  in  a  corner  of  the  dining- 
room  away  from  the  windows,  and  he  went  to  bed 
without  a  light.  But  the  man  in  the  shed  made  no 
move  to  recover  his  shattered  prestige.  When  he 
came  to  he  went  to  the  station,  departing  on  a  freight, 
and  was  seen  no  more. 

It  happened  a  little  later  during  that  summer  in 
which  Roosevelt  and  the  men  of  the  Bad  Lands  were 
getting  one  another's  measure,  that  he  was  sitting 
in  the  office  of  the  only  other  "literary  gent"  in  the 
neighborhood,  the  editor  of  the  Bad  Lands  Cowboy. 
There  were  a  number  of  cow-punchers  in  the  room 
and  the  language  was  more  than  picturesque.  The 
most  foul-mouthed  of  the  lot  was  a  famous  "bad 
man"  named  Jim,  who  had  a  reputation  for  shooting 
up  anything  and  anybody  on  the  slightest  provo- 
cation. 

Roosevelt  had  no  taste  for  foul  stories.  Men  who 
really  knew  h.m  somehow  failed  to  think  of  foul 
stories  when  he  was  about,  or,  if  they  thought  of 

124 


A   NEW    HOME 

them,  instinctively  left  them  untold.  Evidently  Jim 
did  not  know  him  very  well. 

Roosevelt  stood  the  foul  stuff  as  long  as  he  could. 
Then  he  looked  Jim  straight  in  the  eye  and  ' '  skinned 
his  teeth"  and  said,  "Jim,  I  like  you,  but  you  are 
the  nastiest-talking  man  I  ever  heard." 

The  cow-punchers  gasped,  expecting  to  see  Jim's 
hand  fly  to  his  gun. 

But  Jim's  hand  did  nothing  of  the  sort.  There 
was  deep  silence  in  the  room.  Then  a  sheepish  look 
crept  over  the  "bad  man's"  face  as  he  said,  apolo- 
getically: "I  don't  belong  to  your  outfit,  Mr.  Roose- 
velt, and  I'm  not  beholden  to  you  for  anything. 
All  the  same,  I  don't  mind  saying  that  mebbe  I've 
been  a  little  too  free  with  my  mouth." 

They  were  friends  from  that  day. 

Theodore  Roosevelt,  twenty-six  years  old,  no 
longer  asthmatic  now,  but  as  hardy  in  body  as  he 
was  fearless  in  spirit,  became,  in  less  than  a  year  from 
that  early  September  morning  when  he  had  first 
descended  from  the  train  at  Medora,  an  important 
factor  in  the  life  of  the  Bad  Lands.  Ranchmen  as 
well  as  cowboys  respected  him  and  liked  him  and 
treated  him  as  a  comrade.  They  did  even  more. 
They  elected  him  president  of  the  Little  Missouri 
Stockmen's  Association  because  they  admired  his 
"ginger"  and  knew  that  he  was  "square." 

Roosevelt  found  the  life  of  the  Bad  Lands  wonder- 
fully satisfying,  and  he  loved  the  plain,  great-hearted 
people.    But  he  could  not  easily  forget  what  he  had 

125 


THEODORE    ROOSEVELT 

lost.  It  was  in  his  hours  of  deep  loneliness  and  de- 
pression that  Bill  Sewall  would  take  him  out  into  the 
open  prairie  and,  to  use  his  own  expression,  "go  for 
him  bow-legged."  He  talked  to  him  as  though  he 
were  a  boy. 

' ' I  know  how  you  feel,"  he  would  say  to  him,  "and 
I  sympathize  with  you.  But  you'll  feel  different  by 
and  by  and  then  you  won't  want  to  stay  here.  If 
you  can't  think  of  anything  else  to  do,  start  some 
reform.  You'd  be  a  good  reformer.  You're  made  of 
the  right  kind  of  stuff.  You're  always  thinking  of 
making  things  better  instead  of  worse." 

And  at  that  Roosevelt  would  grin,  in  spite  of  the 
blues. 

Roosevelt  did  not  then  and  there  "start  a  reform." 
He  merely  entered  more  deeply  than  ever  into  the 
life  on  the  ranch,  living  in  the  saddle  all  day,  and 
then,  at  dusk,  grimy  and  hot,  sinking  into  a  rocker 
on  the  porch  and  reading  Keats  or  Swinburne  or 
just  rocking  and  looking  sleepily  out  across  the  river 
at  the  weird  buttes,  "while  the  green  and  brown  of 
the  hilltops  changed  to  amber  and  purple  and  then 
to  shadowy  gray  as  the  somber  darkness  deepened." 
The  leaves  of  the  cottonwood-trees  before  the  house 
were  never  still,  and  often  the  cooing  of  mourning- 
doves  would  come  down  to  him  from  some  high 
bough.  He  heard  the  skylark  and  the  thrush  in  the 
thicket  near  by,  and  in  the  distance  the  clanging  cries 
of  the  water-fowl.  He  knew  the  note  of  every  bird, 
and  they  were  like  friends  calling  to  him. 

Roosevelt  went  East  just  before  Christmas,  re- 
turning early  in  March.     It  was  like  coming  home 

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A    NEW    HOME 

from  a  foreign  country  to  see  the  Little  Missouri 
onee  more,  and  the  strangely  fascinating  desolation 
of  the  Bad  Lands,  and  the  home  ranch,  and  the 
"folks  "  from  Maine  and  the  loyal  friends  of  Chimney 
Butte.  He  had  good  friends  in  the  East,  but  there 
was  a  warmth  and  a  stalwart  sincerity  in  the  com- 
radeship of  these  men  and  women  which  he  had 
scarcely  found  elsewhere.  Through  the  cold  evenings 
of  that  early  spring  he  loved  to  lie  stretched  at  full 
length  on  the  elk-hides  and  wolf-skins  in  front  of  the 
great  fireplace,  while  the  blazing  logs  crackled  and 
roared  and  Sewall  and  Dow  and  the  "women  folks" 
recounted  the  happenings  of  the  season  of  his  ab- 
sence. There  were  great  stories  to  tell.  There  was 
the  tale  of  Hell-roaring  Bill  Jones  and  the  lunatic, 
for  instance,  and  how  Bill  Jones,  who  was  the  sheriff, 
used  to  let  the  lunatic  escape  once  a  day  just  to  see 
if  Snyder,  the  huge  Dutchman  who  was  his  deputy, 
could  catch  him;  and  how  Bixby,  the  town  joker, 
tried  to  plague  the  lunatic,  and  how  Bill  Jones 
"learned  him"  by  letting  the  lunatic  out  at  him  one 
night,  and  how  the  lunatic  nearly  bit  off  Bixby's  ear. 
There  were  other  stories  that  were  not  quite  so 
humorous — -stories  of  cattle  frozen  in  the  drifts,  of 
"line-riding"  from  outlying  camp  to  camp  in  the 
bitter,  biting  cold,  stories  of  a  year's  profits  gone 
glimmering  in  a  week  of  wild  weather. 

Spring  came  early  that  year,  and  about  the  middle 
of  March  a  great  ice- jam  which  had  formed  at  a 
bend  far  up  the  river  came  slowly  past  Elkhorn, 
roaring  and  crunching  and  piling  the  ice  high  on 
both  banks,   grinding  against   the  cottonwoods  in 

127 


THEODORE    ROOSEVELT 

front  of  the  porch  and  threatening  to  sweep  away  the 
house.  But  the  force  of  the  freshet  carried  the  jam 
onward,  leaving  an  open  channel  at  last  between 
solid  masses  of  ice.  The  water  ran  through  it  like  a 
mill-race. 

Roosevelt  had  brought  out  a  clinker-built  boat  to 
ferry  him  and  his  men  to  the  opposite  shore  when 
the  river  was  high.  One  afternoon  they  crossed  the 
raging  channel  to  bring  home  the  carcasses  of  a 
number  of  deer  they  had  shot  for  meat  and  hung  up 
in  a  thicket  of  dwarf  cedars.  They  found  that  the 
carcasses  had  been  completely  devoured,  evidently 
by  mountain-lions.  They  followed  the  tracks  into 
a  tangle  of  rocky  hills,  but  the  oncoming  night  ob- 
scured the  footprints  and  they  returned  home,  re- 
solved to  renew  the  pursuit  at  dawn.  They  tied  the 
boat  securely  to  a  tree  high  up  on  the  bank.  The 
next  morning  the  boat  was  gone. 

It  was  Bill  Sewall  who  made  the  discovery.  He 
was  not  a  man  easily  excited  and  he  took  a  certain 
quiet  satisfaction  in  sitting  down  to  breakfast  and 
saying  nothing  while  Roosevelt  expatiated  on  what 
they  were  going  to  do  to  the  mountain-lions. 

"I  guess  we  won't  go  to-day,"  said  Sewall,  at 
length,  munching  the  last  of  his  breakfast. 

"Why  not?"  Roosevelt  demanded. 

"Some  one  has  gone  off  with  the  boat." 

Roosevelt  leaped  indignantly  to  his  feet  to  see  for 
himself.    Sure  enough,  the  rope  had  been  cut. 

They  had  little  doubt  who  the  thieves  were.  They 
had  heard  that  there  were  three  suspicious  charac- 
ters up  the  river  who  had  good  reasons  for  wanting 

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A   NEW    HOME 

to  "skip  the  country."  The  leader  was  a  man  named 
Finnegan,  who  had  been  heard  to  boast  that  he  was 
"from  Bitter  Creek,  where  the  farther  up  you  went 
the  worse  people  got,"  and  he  lived  "at  the  fountain- 
head."  The  vigilantes  had  been  looking  his  way  for 
some  months.  Travel  by  horse  or  foot  was  impossi- 
ble. The  Elkhorn  boat  had  evidently  appeared  to 
Finnegan  and  company  in  the  nature  of  a  godsend. 

Roosevelt  ran  to  saddle  Manitou.  But  Sewall  re- 
strained him,  pointing  out  that  if  the  country  was 
impassable  for  the  horses  of  the  thieves  it  was  no  less 
impassable  for  the  pursuers.  He  declared  that  he 
and  Dow  could  build  a  flat-bottomed  boat  in  three 
days.  Roosevelt  told  him  to  go  ahead.  With  the 
saddle-band — his  forty  or  fifty  cow-ponies — on  the 
farther  side  of  the  river,  he  could  not  afford  to  lose 
the  boat.  As  a  deputy  sheriff,  moreover,  he  had 
certain  responsibilities.  In  an  unsettled  community 
he  knew  it  was  fatal  to  submit  tamely  to  injury. . 

They  left  a  cowboy  named  Rowe  as  guard  over 
the  ranch  and  "the  women  folk,"  and,  with  their 
unwieldy  but  watertight  craft  laden  with  two  weeks' 
provisions  of  flour,  coffee,  and  bacon,  started,  one 
cold  morning  toward  the  end  of  March,  to  drift  down 
the  river. 

The  region  through  which  they  passed  was  bare 
and  bleak  and  terrible.  On  either  side,  beyond  the 
heaped  -  up  piles  of  ice,  rose 'the  scarred  buttes, 
weather-worn  into  fantastic  shapes  and  strangely 
blotched  with  spots  of  brown  and  yellow,  purple 
and  red.  Here  and  there  the  Black  coal- veins  that 
ran  through  them  were  aflame,  gleaming  weirdly 
9  129 


THEODORE    ROOSEVELT 

through  the  dusk  as  the  three  men  made  their  camp 
that  night. 

The  weather  was  cold  and  an  icy  wind  blew  in 
their  faces. 

"We're  like  to  have  it  in  our  faces  all  day,"  re- 
marked Will  Dow,  cheerfully,  paddling  at  the  bow. 

"We  can't,  unless  it's  the  crookedest  wind  in 
Dakota,"  answered  Sewall,  who  was  steering. 

They  followed  the  river's  course  hither  and  thither 
in  and  out  among  the  crags,  east  and  west,  north 
and  south. 

"It  is.  the  crookedest  wind  in  Dakota,"  muttered 
Sewall  to  himself. 

The  thermometer  dropped  to  zero,  but  there  was 
firewood  in  plenty,  and  they  found  prairie-fowl  and 
deer  for  their  evening  meals.  Late  the  third  day, 
rounding  a  bend,  they  saw  their  boat  moored  against 
the  bank.  Out  of  the  bushes,  a  little  way  back,  the 
smoke  of  a  camp-fire  curled  up  through  the  frosty  air. 
They  flung  off  their  heavy  coats.  Sewall  was  in  the 
stern,  steering  the  boat  toward  shore.  Dow  was  at 
Roosevelt's  side  in  the  bow.  Roosevelt  saw  the  grim, 
eager  look  in  their  eyes,  and  his  own  eyes  gleamed. 

He  was  the  first  ashore,  leaping  out  of  the  boat 
as  it  touched  the  shore  ice  and  running  up  behind  a 
clump  of  bushes,  so  as  to  cover  the  landing  of  the 
others.  Dow  was  beside  him  in  an  instant.  Sewall 
was  fastening  the  boat. 

They  peered  through  the  bushes.  Beside  a  fire  in 
a  grove  of  young  cottonwoods  in  the  lee  of  a  cut  bank 
a  solitary  figure  was  sitting;  his  guns  were  on  the 
ground  at  his  side. 

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A    NEW    HOME 

"Hands  up!" 

Roosevelt  and  Dow  rushed  in  on  the  man,  who  was 
not  slow  to  do  as  he  was  told.  He  was  a  half- 
witted German,  a  tool  of  rogues  more  keen  than  he, 
and  he  readily  promised,  at  the  point  of  a  gun,  to 
make  no  move  to  warn  the  others. 

Finnegan  and  the  third  man,  a  half-breed  Swede 
named  Bernstein,  had  gone  hunting,  believing  them- 
selves safe.  Sewall  guarded  the  German  while 
Roosevelt  and  Dow  crouched  under  the  bank  and 
prepared  to  greet  the  others. 

They  waited  an  hour  or  more.  Then,  afar  off, 
they  heard  them  coming,  and  then  they  saw  them, 
walking  leisurely  through  the  long,  dry  grass,  with 
the  sun  glinting  on  the  rifles  they  carried  over  their 
shoulders,  now  forty  yards  away,  now  thirty,  now 
twenty  .  .  . 

"Hands  up!" 

The  half-breed  obeyed,  but  for  an  instant  Finnegan 
hesitated,  glaring  at  his  captors  with  wolfish  eyes. 
Roosevelt  walked  toward  him,  covering  the  center 
of  the  man's  chest  to  avoid  over-shooting. 

"You  thief,  put  up  your  hands!" 

Finnegan  dropped  his  rifle  with  an  oath  and  put 
up  his  hands. 

They  camped  that  night  where  they  were.  Sewall 
and  Dow  set  to  work  chopping  firewood,  while  Roose- 
velt kept  watch  over  the  sullen  prisoners.  To  secure 
them  effectually  the  obvious  resource  was  to  tie 
them  hand  and  foot.  But  the  air  was  icy;  before 
morning  hands  and  feet  would  have  been  frozen  off. 
Roosevelt  searched  them,  taking  away  everything 

131 


THEODORE    ROOSEVELT 

that  might  have  done  service  as  a  weapon.  He 
corded  his  harvest  in  some  bedding  well  out  of  reach 
of  the  thieves.  Then  a  further  precaution  occurred 
to  him. 

"Take  off  your  boots!"  he  ordered. 

It  had  occurred  to  him  that  bare  feet  would  make 
any  thought  of  flight  through  that  cactus  country 
extremely  uninviting.  The  men  surrendered  their 
boots.  Roosevelt  gave  them  a  buffalo  robe  in  re- 
turn and  the  prisoners  crawled  under  it,  thoroughly 
cowed. 

Captors  and  captives  started  down-stream  in  the 
two  boats  the  next  morning.  The  cold  was  bitter. 
Toward  the  end  of  the  day  they  were  stopped  by  a 
small  ice- jam  which  moved  forward  slowly,  only  to 
stop  them  again.  They  ran  the  boats  ashore  to  in- 
vestigate, and  found  that  the  great  Ox-bow  jam 
which  had  moved  past  Elkhorn  a  week  ago  had  come 
to  a  halt  and  now  effectually  barred  their  way.  They 
could  not  possibly  paddle  up-stream  against  the 
current.  They  could  not  go  on  foot,  for  to  do  so 
would  have  meant  the  sacrifice  of  all  their  equipment. 
They  determined  to  follow  the  slow-moving  mass  of 
ice,  and  hope,  meanwhile,  for  a  thaw. 

They  continued  to  hope ;  day  after  weary  day  they 
watched  in  vain  for  signs  of  the  thaw  that  would 
not  come,  breaking  camp  in  the  morning  on  one 
barren  point,  only  to  pitch  camp  again  in  the  evening 
on  another,  guarding  the  prisoners  every  instant, 
for  the  trouble  they  were  costing  made  the  captors 
even  more  determined  that,  whatever  was  lost,  Fin- 
negan  and  company  should  not  be  lost. 

132 


A   NEW   HOME 

Their  provisions  ran  short.  They  went  after  game, 
but  there  was  none  to  be  seen,  no  beast  or  bird,  in 
that  barren  region.  Soon  they  were  reduced  to  un- 
leavened bread  made  with  muddy  water.  The  days 
were  utterly  tedious,  and  were  made  only  slightly 
more  bearable  by  a  perusal  of  The  History  of  the 
James  Brothers,  which  the  thieves  quite  properly 
carried  among  their  belongings.  And  the  thieves 
had  to  be  watched  every  minute.  And  the  wind  blew 
and  chilled  them  all  to  the  bone. 

Roosevelt  thought  that  it  might  be  pleasant  under 
certain  circumstances  to  be  either  a  Dakota  sheriff 
or  an  Arctic  explorer.  But  he  did  not  find  great  joy 
in  being  both  at  the  same  time. 

When  the  flour  was  nearly  gone  Roosevelt  and  his 
men  had  a  consultation. 

"We  can't  shoot  them,"  said  Roosevelt,  "and  we 
can't  feed  them.  It  looks  to  me  as  though  we'd 
have  to  let  them  go." 

Sewall  disagreed.  "The  flour '11  last  a  day  or 
two  more,"  he  said,  "and  it's  something  to  know 
that  if  we're  punishing  ourselves  we're  punishing  the 
thieves  also." 

"Exactly!"  cried  Roosevelt.  "We'll  hold  on  to 
them." 

The  next  day  Sewall,  on  foot,  searched  the  sur- 
rounding region  far  and  wide  for  a  ranch,  and  found 
none.  The  day  after,  Roosevelt  and  Dow  covered 
the  country  on  the  other  side  of  the  river,  and  at  last 
came  on  an  outlying  cow  camp  of  the  Diamond  C 
Ranch,  where  Roosevelt  secured  a  horse. 

It  was  a  wiry,  rebellious  beast. 
133 


THEODORE    ROOSEVELT 

"The  boss  ain't  no  bronco-buster,"  remarked  Dow, 
apologetically,  to  the  cowboys. 

But  "the  boss"  managed  to  get  on  the  horse  and 
to  stay  on.  Dow  returned  to  Sewall  and  the  thieves, 
while  Roosevelt  rode  fifteen  miles  to  a  ranch  at  the 
edge  of  the  Kildeer  Mountains.  There  he  secured 
supplies  and  a  prairie-schooner,  hiring  the  ranchman 
himself,  a  rugged  old  plainsman,  to  drive  it  to  the 
camp  by  the  ice-bound  river.  Sewall  and  Dow,  now 
thoroughly  provisioned,  remained  with  the  boats. 
Roosevelt  with  the  thieves  started  for  the  nearest 
jail,  which  was  at  Dickinson. 

It  was  a  desolate  two  days'  journey  through  a 
bleak  waste  of  burnt,  blackened  prairie,  and  over 
rivers  so  rough  with  ice  that  they  had  to  take  the 
wagon  apart  to  cross.  Roosevelt  did  not  dare  abate 
his  watch  over  the  thieves  for  an  instant,  for  they 
knew  they  were  drawing  close  to  jail  and  might  con- 
ceivably make  a  desperate  break  any  minute.  He 
could  not  trust  the  driver.  There  was  nothing  for 
it  but  to  pack  the  men  into  the  wagon  and  to  walk 
behind  with  the  Winchester. 

Hour  after  hour  he  trudged  through  the  ankle- 
deep  mud,  hungry,  cold,  and  utterly  fatigued,  but 
possessed  by  the  dogged  resolution  to  carry  the  thing 
through,  whatever  the  cost.  They  put  up  at  the 
squalid  hut  of  a  frontier  granger  overnight,  but 
Roosevelt,  weary  as  he  was,  did  not  dare  to  sleep. 
He  crowded  the  prisoners  into  the  upper  bunk  and 
sat  against  the  cabin  door  all  night,  with  the  Win- 
chester across  his  knees. 

"What  I  can't  make  out,"  said  the  ranchman  from 

i34 


A    NEW    HOME 

the  Kildeers,  bewildered,   "is  why  you   make    all 
this  fuss  instead  of  hanging  'em  offhand?" 

Roosevelt  grinned,  and  the  following  evening,  after 
a  three-hundred-mile  journey,  deposited  three  men, 
who  had  defied  the  laws  of  Dakota,  in  the  jail  at 
Dickinson. 


CHAPTER  IX 

THE    END    OF    THE    IDYL 

THE  season  which  began  with  Finnegan  and 
company  proved  poor  from  a  business  stand- 
point, but  rich  in  varied  experiences.  The  cattle  had 
not  come  through  the  winter  well.  Many  of  the 
weaker  animals  had  died.  The  price  of  beef,  mean- 
while, remained  low.  But  though  Roosevelt  was  not 
getting  much  financial  return  on  his  rather  generous 
investment,  he  was  getting  other  things,  for  him  at 
this  time  of  far  greater  value.  He  who  had  been 
weak  in  body  and  subject  to  racking  illnesses  had  in 
these  three  years  developed  a  constitution  as  tough 
and  robust  as  an  Indian's.  He  had  achieved  some- 
thing besides  this.  Living,  talking,  working,  facing 
danger,  and  suffering  hardships  with  the  Sewalls 
and  the  Dows,  with  Merrifield  and  the  Ferrises  and 
Hell-roaring  Bill  Jones  and  countless  other  stalwart 
citizens  of  the  Bad  Lands,  he  had  come  very  close  to 
the  heart  of  the  "plain  American." 

He  loved  the  wild  country,  he  loved  the  vigorous 
life,  but,  most  of  all,  he  loved  the  "plain  Americans" 
as  he  came  to  know  them  in  Dakota. 

And  it  happened  that  they  also  loved  him.  Even 
136 


THE    END    OF    THE    IDYL 

Finnegan.  For  Finnegan,  who  had  cried  out,  be- 
fore they  parted,  "If  I'd  had  any  show  at  all,  you'd 
have  sure  had  to  fight,  Mr.  Roosevelt,"  wrote  him 
a  few  weeks  later,  "Should  you  stop  at  Bismarck  this 
fall,  make  a  call  at  the  prison.  I  should  be  glad  to 
meet  you." 

It  was  no  wonder  that  Roosevelt  wrote  his  brother- 
in-law  that  July,  "If  I  continued  to  make  long  stays 
here  I  should  very  soon  get  to  practically  give  up 
the  East  entirely." 

Roosevelt  wrote  much  that  summer,  putting  the 
finishing  touches  on  his  Life  of  Benton;  but  more 
than  half  the  time  he  was  in  the  open,  working  on 
the  various  round-ups,  riding  among  the  line  camps, 
hunting,  breaking  colts.  He  broke  other  things  be- 
sides colts— a  rib  on  one  occasion  when  the  pony 
bucked  him  off  on  a  rock.  He  made  a  speech  to  a 
Fourth  of  July  crowd  of  cowboys  and  grangers  at 
Dickinson;  he  opened  a  hop  with  the  wife  of  a 
notorious  gun-fighter  at  Medora;  he  pronounced  a 
friendly  benediction  on  two  babies  which  arrived  at 
Elkhorn  Ranch  within  a  week  of  each  other;  and 
once,  when  he  was  alone  on  the  prairie,  he  success- 
fully repulsed  a  small  band  of  Indians. 

The  Indian  adventure  happened  this  way.  He  had 
been  traveling  along  the  edge  of  the  prairie  on  a 
solitary  journey  to  the  unexplored  country  north  and 
east  of  the  range  on  which  his  cattle  grazed,  and 
was  crossing  a  narrow  plateau  when  he  suddenly 
saw  a  group  of  four  or  five  Indians  come  up  over  the 
edge,  directly  in  front.  As  they  saw  him  they 
whipped  their  guns  out  of  their  slings,  started  their 

i37 


THEODORE    ROOSEVELT 

horses  into  a  run,  and  came  toward  him  at  full 
speed. 

He  reined  up  instantly  and  dismounted. 

The  Indians  came  on,  whooping  and  brandishing 
their  weapons. 

Roosevelt  laid  his  gun  across  the  saddle  and 
waited.  When  they  were  within  a  hundred  yards  he 
threw  up  his  rifle  and  drew  a  bead  on  the  foremost 
rider. 

The  effect  was  instantaneous.  The  Indians  flung 
themselves  over  the  sides  of  their  horses,  scattered, 
wheeled,  and  doubled  on  their  tracks.  At  some  dis- 
tance, they  halted  and  gathered,  evidently  for  a 
conference. 

Thereupon  one  man  came  forward  alone,  making 
the  peace  sign  first  with  his  blanket  and  then  with 
his  open  hand.  Roosevelt  let  him  come  to  within 
fifty  yards.  The  Indian  was  waving  a  piece  of  soiled 
paper,  his  reservation  pass. 

"How!  Me  good  Indian!"  he  called. 

"How!"  Roosevelt  answered.  "I'm  glad  you  are. 
But  don't  come  any  closer." 

Now  from  the  right  and  the  left  the  other  Indians 
began  almost  imperceptibly  to  draw  toward  him. 

Roosevelt  whipped  up  his  gun  once  more,  covering 
the  spokesman.  That  individual  burst  into  a  volume 
of  perfect  Anglo-Saxon  profanity;  but  he  retired, 
which  was  what  he  was  supposed  to  do.  Roosevelt 
led  the  faithful  Manitou  off  toward  the  plains.  The 
Indians  hovered  about,  but  he  was  watchful,  and 
they  knew  that  he  had  a  gun  and  that  he  was  not 
afraid. 

138 


THE    END    OF    THE    IDYL 

They  vanished  in  the  radiant  dust  of  the  prairie. 

He  had  another  adventure  that  summer,  and  it 
came  uncomfortably  close  to  costing  him  his  life.  It 
was  in  September  and  he  had  gone  west  to  the 
Cceur  d'Alene  Mountains  with  Merrifield  and  a 
guide— an  extraordinary  woodsman  but  a  man  of 
more  than  dubious  morals — for  a  fortnight's  chase 
after  white  goats.  The  country  through  which  they 
hunted  was  a  vast  wooded  wilderness  of  towering 
peaks  on  every  side,  and  valleys  that  lay  half  in 
darkness  between  timbered  slopes  or  steep  rock 
walls.  Wild  torrents  sprang  down  through  the 
chasms. 

They  camped  far  up  in  the  mountains,  hunting 
day  after  day  through  the  deep  woods  just  below  the 
timber-line.  The  climbing  was  very  hard,  and  the 
footing  was  treacherous.  There  was  endless  under- 
brush, thickets  of  prickly  balsam  or  laurel — but 
there  were  no  goats. 

At  last,  one  mid-afternoon,  as  he  was  supporting 
himself  against  a  tree,  half-way  across  a  long  land- 
slide, Roosevelt  suddenly  discovered  one  of  the 
beasts  he  was  after,  a  short  distance  away,  waddling 
down  a  hill,  looking  for  all  the  world  like  a  hand- 
some tame  billy.  He  was  in  a  bad  position  for  a 
shot,  and  as  he  twisted  himself  about  he  dislodged 
some  pebbles.  The  goat,  instantly  alert,  fled. 
Roosevelt  fired,  but  the  shot  went  low,  only  breaking 
a  foreleg. 

The  three  men  raced  and  scrambled  after  the  flee- 
ing animal.  It  leaped  along  the  hillside  for  nearly 
a  mile,  then  turned  straight  up  the  mountain.   They 

i39 


THEODORE    ROOSEVELT 

followed  the  bloody  trail  where  it  went  up  the 
.sharpest  and  steepest  places,  skirting  the  cliffs  and 
precipices. 

Roosevelt,  intent  on  the  quarry,  was  not  what  Bill 
Sewall  would  have  called  "over-cautious"  in  the 
pursuit. 

He  was  running  along  a  shelving  ledge  when  a 
piece  of  loose  slate  with  which  the  ledge  was  covered 
slipped  under  his  foot.  He  clutched  at  the  rock 
wall,  he  tried  to  fling  himself  back,  but  he  could  not 
recover  himself. 

He  went  head  first  over  the  precipice. 

There  is  probably  something  in  the  theory  of 
guardian  angels.  Theodore  Roosevelt's  particular 
guardian  angel  that  day  took  the  form  of  a  clump  of 
evergreens  in  the  ravine  forty  or  fifty  feet  below.  The 
angel — whoever  he  was — caught  the  falling  hunts- 
man in  a  tall  pine,  sent  him  bouncing  through  it, 
and  brought  him  up,  finally  and  reasonably  com- 
fortably, in  a  thick  balsam,  somewhat  shaken  and 
scratched,  but  with  no  bones  broken  and  with  his 
rifle  still  clutched  in  his  hand. 

From  far  above  came  the  hoarse  voice  of  the  guide, 
"Are  you  hurt?" 

"No,"  answered  Roosevelt,  a  trifle  breathlessly. 

"Then  come  on!" 

Roosevelt  "came  on,"  scrambling  back  up  the 
steep  height  he  had  so  swiftly  descended,  and  raced 
after  the  guide.  He  came  upon  the  goat  at  last,  but, 
winded  as  he  was  and  with  the  sweat  in  his  eyes,  he 
shot  too  high,  cutting  the  skin  above  the  spine.  The 
goat  plunged  downhill  and  the   hunters    plunged 

140 


THE    END   OF   THE    IDYL 

after  him,  pursuing  the  elusive  animal  until  darkness 
covered  the  trail. 

Roosevelt  brought  him  down  next  day  at  noon. 

He  returned  to  Elkhorn  to  find  that,  during  his 
fortnight's  absence,  two  important  things  had  hap- 
pened. 

The  first  was  the  arrival  of  a  letter  notifying  him 
that  a  non-partisan  organization,  including  the  most 
prominent  citizens  of  New  York  City,  Democrats  as 
well  as  Republicans,  intended,  with  his  consent,  to 
make  him  their  candidate  for  Mayor  at  the  coming 
election. 

The  other  was  the  return  of  Wilmot  Dow  from 
Chicago  with  the  report  that  the  best  price  he  had 
been  able  to  secure  for  the  hundreds  of  cattle  he 
had  taken  to  the  market  there  was  less  by  ten  dollars 
a  head  than  the  sum  they  had  cost  to  raise  and 
transport. 

Roosevelt  had  gone  into  the  cattle  business  against 
the  urgent  advice  and  remonstrances  of  his  family 
and  his  other  friends.  He  did  not  like  to  admit  that 
he  had  not  "made  good."  He  was  not  at  all  sure, 
in  fact,  that  with  ordinary  luck  he  might  not  yet 
succeed.  But  he  recognized  that  Sewall  had  been 
right  that  first  evening  at  Chimney  Butte.  The  Bad 
Lands  were  not  a  good  region  for  cattle.  The  win- 
ters were  too  severe  for  the  young  stock.  He  might 
yet  win  through,  and  he  might  not.  The  thing  was 
a  gamble  in  any  event.  He  himself  could  afford  to 
take  the  risk.    Sewall  and  Dow  could  not. 

He  called  them  to  his  room.  He  had  made  a  verbal 
141 


THEODORE    ROOSEVELT 

agreement  with  them  the  year  previous,  stipulating 
that  if  business  were  prosperous  they  were  to  have 
a  share  in  it ;  if  not,  they  were  to  have  wages  in  any 
event. 

"What  do  you  think  of  that,  Bill?"  Roosevelt  had 
said. 

"I  call  that  a  one-sided  trade,"  Sewall  had  an- 
swered.   "But  if  you  can  stand  it,  I  guess  we  can." 

In  his  room  that  day,  a  year  later,  Roosevelt  told 
them  that  he  had  been  "figuring  up  things."  He 
would  stand  by  his  agreement,  he  said,  if,  facing  an 
uncertain  outcome,  they  wished  to  remain;  but,  if 
they  were  willing,  he  thought  they  had  better  "quit 
the  business  and  go  back." 

Sewall  and  Dow  did  not  hesitate.  They  said  they 
would  go  back. 

"I  never  wanted  to  fool  away  anybody  else's 
money,"  Sewall  added.  "Never  had  any  of  my  own 
to  fool  away." 

"How  soon  can  you  go?"  asked  Roosevelt. 

Sewall  turned  and  went  into  the  kitchen  "to  ask 
the  women  folks."  Their  babies — known  to  their 
families  and  to  an  endless  succession  of  cowboys 
who  came  from  near  and  far  to  inspect  them,  as 
"the  Bad  Lands  babies" — were  just  six  weeks  old. 

"They  say  they  can  go  in  three  weeks,"  Sewall 
reported. 

"Three  weeks  from  to-day,"  answered  Roosevelt, 
we  go. 

And  so  the  folks  from  Maine  who  had  made  a 
rough  and  simple  house  in  a  desolate  country  into 
the  only  home  Theodore  Roosevelt  had  known  in 

j.  42 


THE    END    OF    THE    IDYL 

almost  three  years,  began  to  gather  together  their 
belongings  and  pack  up.  It  was  the  end  of  what 
had  been  a  wonderful  idyl  whose  impermanence 
wise  old  Bill  Sewall  had  been  the  only  one  fully  to 
recognize. 

"You'll  come  to  feel  different,"  he  had  said  the 
year  before,  when  Roosevelt  had  been  lonely  and 
despondent,  "and  then  you  won't  want  to  stay  here." 

Sewall  had  been  right.  Life,  which  for  a  while 
had  seemed  to  Theodore  Roosevelt  so  gray  and  dis- 
mal, had  slowly  taken  on  new  color.  He  had  be- 
come engaged  to  Edith  Carow,  the  "Eidieth"  of  the 
portrait  which  had  "stired  up"  in  him  "homesick- 
ness and  longings  for  the  past  which  will  come  again 
never  aback  never,"  that  far-away  November  in 
Paris  when  he  was  just  eleven.  His  interest  in  politics 
reawoke. 

And  yet  during  those  last  weeks  at  Elkhorn  he 
was  not  at  all  sure  that  he  wished  to  re-enter  the 
turmoil  of  politics.  He  rode  out  into  the  prairie  one 
day  for  a  last  "session"  with  Bill  Sewall  shortly 
before  the  three  weeks  were  up.  He  told  Sewall  he 
had  an  idea  he  ought  to  go  into  law. 

"You'd  be  a  good  lawyer,"  said  Bill,  "but  I  think 
you  ought  to  go  into  politics.  Good  men  like  you 
ought  to  go  into  politics.  If  you  do,  and  if  you  live, 
I  think  you'll  be  President." 

Roosevelt  laughed.  "That's  looking  a  long  way 
ahead." 

"It  may  look  a  long  way  ahead  of  you,"  Sewali 
declared,  stoutly,  "but  it  isn't  as  far  ahead  as  it's 
been  for  some  of  the  men  who  got  there." 

i43 


THEODORE    ROOSEVELT 

"I'm  going  home  now,"  said  Roosevelt,  "to  see 
about  a  job  my  friends  want  me  to  take.  I  don't 
think  I  want  it.  It  will  get  me  into  a  row.  And  I 
want  to  write." 

Roosevelt  went  East  a  day  or  two  after,  leaving 
his  cattle  in  charge  of  Merrifield  and  the  Ferrises, 
on  shares.  The  Sewalls  and  Dows,  with  the  little 
girl  and  the  "Bad  Lands  babies,"  followed  within  a 
week. 

Neither  Roosevelt  nor  the  "folks  from  Maine" 
were  sentimentalists.  They  .shed  no  tears,  but  they 
were  all  aware  that  for  all  of  them  a  "golden  age" 
had  come  to  an  end.  The  women  were  conscious  of 
it,  but  it  was  the  men  who  felt  it  most  keenly. 

There  were  six  of  them — Bill  Sewall  and  Will  Dow, 
Joe  Ferris  and  his  brother  Sylvane,  Joe  Merrifield, 
most  daring  of  all,  and  Theodore  Roosevelt.  They 
had  bunked  together  and  eaten  together;  hunted 
together  and  ridden  on  the  round-up  together;  suf- 
fered hunger  and  thirst  together  on  the  parched 
plains  and  among  the  scraggy  buttes  of  the  Bad 
Lands ;  struggled  against  the  fierce  storms  of  winter 
when  there  was  no  such  thing  as  turning  back  and 
every  step  forward  was  sheer,  aching  misery;  risked 
their  necks  together  and  called  it  the  "day's  work"; 
and  on  winter  evenings  sat  before  the  blazing  fire 
together  in  the  warm  security  of  the  ranch-house 
and  talked  of  poetry  and  adventure  and  of  the  needs 
and  the  great  past  of  their  country. 

For  five  of  them  it  was  a  joyous  experience  to 
remember  to  their  dying  day  and  to  tell  their  children 
about,  and  their  children's  children — so  much  and  no 

144 


THE    END    OF   THE    IDYL 

more.  But  for  the  sixth  it  was  a  decisive  factor  in 
his  life,  that  transformed  an  Eastern  aristocrat  with 
a  Northern  father  and  a  Southern  mother  into  a 
democratic  American,  whom  thereafter  no  section 
could  claim  exclusively,  because  in  his  spirit  he  was 
akin  to  all. 

Theodore  Roosevelt  accepted  the  nomination  of 
the  independents  for  Mayor  of  New  York  City, 
believing  that  the  non-partisan  organization  which 
had  offered  him  the  nomination  actually  repre- 
sented a  fusion  of  large  and  important  elements  in 
the  Democratic  and  Republican  parties.  When  the 
Republican  organization  indorsed  his  nomination,  he 
decided  that  there  was  a  real  chance  that  he  might 
win,  and  leaped  whole-heartedly  into  the  campaign. 

But  he  had  misjudged  the  situation.  A  new 
' '  United  Labor  Party ' '  had  nominated  Henry  George 
on  a  single-tax  platform;  Tammany  Hall  had  re- 
sorted to  camouflage  and  nominated  Abram  S. 
Hewitt,  -an  admirable  and  public-spirited  citizen. 
The  fight  was  hopeless  from  the  start.  The  thought- 
ful elements  in  the  city,  on  whose  support  against 
the  radicalism  of  Henry  George  on  the  one  hand,  and 
the  corruption  of  Tammany  on  the  other,  he  had 
believed  he  could  safely  count,  became  panic- 
stricken  at  the  possibility  of  a  labor  victory  and  gave 
their  votes  to  Hewitt. 

Roosevelt  conducted  a  lively  campaign,  and  here 
and  there  among  his  audiences  the  spark  of  his  en- 
thusiasm for  just  and  honest  government  began  to 
kindle  the  hearts  of  young  men  to  a  fervor  more 
10  i4S 


THEODORE    ROOSEVELT 

profound  and  lasting  than  the  effervescence  of  ordi- 
nary election  excitement. 

For  the  first  time  young  men,  under  the  spell  of 
the  hot  sincerity  of  Theodore  Roosevelt,  aged  twenty- 
eight,  began  to  say,  "That's  the  man  for  me!" 

He  was  not  elected;  in  fact,  he  ran  third. 


THE   HOUSE   AT   SAGAMORE   HILL 

As  originally  built  by   Theodore   Roosevelt 


"But,  anyway,"  he  said,  cheerfully,  "I  had  a 
bully  time." 

He  went  abroad  immediately  after  election,  and  in 
December,  at  St.  George's,  Hanover  Square,  Lon- 
don ;  he  married  Edith  Kermit  Carow. 

Theodore  Roosevelt  and  his  wife  returned  to 
America  early  in  the  new  year  and  immediately 
moved  into  the  new  house  on  Sagamore  Hill,  at 

146 


THE    END    OF    THE    IDYL 

Oyster  Bay,  which  Roosevelt  had  built  two  years 
previously  and  which,  with  its  wide  view  over  woods 
and  waters,  was  to  be  "home"  thereafter.  Aside 
from  certain  work  in  the  Republican  organization, 
Roosevelt  took  no  part  in  politics.  He  thought  of 
himself,  in  fact,  not  as  a  politician  at  all,  but  as  a 
man  of  letters.  His  Life  of  Benton  had  been  pub- 
lished the  previous  autumn  and  had  quickly  run 
into  a  second  and  third  edition.  He  was  now  at 
work  on  its  successor,  the  Life  of  Gouverneur  Morris, 
and  was  already  gathering  material  for  what  was  to  be 
his  greatest  historical  work,  The  Winning  of  the  West. 

Meanwhile,  the  news  from  Dakota  was  bad.  The 
winter  had  been  terrible  in  its  severity.  The  snow- 
fall had  been  unprecedented,  beginning  in  November 
and,  day  by  day,  piling  the  drifts  higher  and  higher 
until  the  ravines  were  almost  level.  The  cattle  on 
the  hills  died  by  hundreds  and  thousands  of  starva- 
tion and  the  cold.  Half  of  Roosevelt's  herd  was 
destroyed. 

It  was  a  severe  blow.  He  went  West  in  April  to 
see  for  himself  how  great  the  loss  was. 

You  cannot  imagine  anything  more  dreary  than  the  look  of 
the  Bad  Lands  when  I  went  out  there  [he  wrote  to  Sewall  on 
his  return].  Everything  was  cropped  as  bare  as  a  bone.  The 
sage-brush  was  just  fed  out  by  the  starving  cattle.  The  snow 
lay  so  deep  that  nobody  could  get  around;  it  was  almost  im- 
possible to  get  a  horse  a  mile.  In  almost  every  coulee  there 
were  dead  cattle.  There  were  nearly  three  hundred  in  Wads- 
worth  bottom.  Annie  came  through  all  right;  Angus  died. 
Only  one  or  two  of  our  horses  died;  but  the  OX  lost  sixty 
head.  In  one  of  Monroe's  draws  I  counted  in  a  single  patch 
of  brushwood  twenty-three  dead  cows  and  calves, 

147 


THEODORE    ROOSEVELT 

The  losses  are  immense;  the  only  ray  of  comfort  is  that  I 
hear  the  grass  is  very  good  this  summer.  You  boys  were 
lucky  to  get  out  when  you  did;  if  you  had  waited  till  this  spring 
I  guess  it  would  have  been  a  case  of  walking. 

During  his  flying  visit  to  the  Little  Missouri  in 
April  he  moved  the  Ferrises  and  Merrifield  down 
from  Chimney  Butte  to  Elkhorn.  In  the  autumn  he 
was  again  at  the  ranch  to  assist  in  the  round-up  of 
a  train-load  of  cattle  which  he  subsequently  sold  at 
Chicago  (again  at  a  loss,  for  the  prices  for  beef  were 
even  lower  than  the  previous  year).  He  went  on  a 
brief  hunt  after  antelope  in  the  broken  country  be- 
tween the  Little  Missouri  and  the  Beaver;  he  fought 
a  raging  prairie  fire  with  the  blood  from  the  split 
carcass  of  a  steer;  and,  feeling  very  fit,  returned 
East  to  his  family  and  his  books. 

A  month  later,  his  son,  Theodore  Roosevelt, 
Junior,  was  born. 

He  was  now  increasingly  busy  with  his  writing, 
completing  that  winter  a  volume  of  vigorous  sketches 
of  the  frontier  called  Ranch  Life  and  the  Hunting 
Trail,  besides  his  Life  of  Gouvemeur  Morris  and  a 
book  of  Essays  on  Practical  Politics.  He  took  some 
part  in  the  Presidential  campaign  that  summer,  but 
in  September  he  was  again  at  Elkhorn  and  again  on 
the  chase,  this  time  in  the  Selkirks  in  northern  Idaho, 
camping  on  Kootenai  Lake,  and  from  there,  on  foot, 
with  a  pack  on  his  back,  ranging  among  the  high 
peaks  with  his  old  guide,  John  Willis,  and  an  Indian 
named  Ammal,  who  was  pigeon-toed  and  mortally 
afraid  of  hobgoblins.  He  brought  down  a  black  bear 
and  a  great  bull  caribou,  and  returned  East  only  to 

148 


THE    END    OF    THE    IDYL 

throw  himself  into  a  struggle  of  another  sort.  The 
political  campaign  was  drawing  to  a  close.  President 
Cleveland  was  running  for  re-election  against  Ben- 
jamin Harrison,  the  Republican  nominee.  Harrison 
was  elected. 

Roosevelt  was  now  living,  winter  and  summer,  at 
Oyster  Bay,  writing  and  studying,  gathering  materi- 
al for  his  new  book,  and  keeping  in  physical  trim 
by  playing  polo  (not  well,  but  as  well  as  he  could) 
with  certain  neighbors  of  his  who,  like  himself,  cared 
more  for  the  sport  than  the  exact  science  of  the 
game.  In  the  same  spirit  he  hunted  with  the 
Meadowbrook  hounds  and  was  regularly  in  at  the 
death,  not  because  he  was  a  good  rider  on  a  good 
horse,  but  because,  though  only  a  respectable  rider 
riding  an  ex-buggy  horse,  he  would  not  allow  even 
a  broken  arm  or  the  fact  that  his  horse  might  take 
it  into  his  head  to  throw  him  at  every  fence  to  inter- 
fere with  the  day's  business.  He  led  a  life  of  varied 
activity,  but  still  he  was  half  uncertain  whether  he 
had  actually  found  his  proper  career.  More  than 
once  he  was  impelled  to  go  into  business.  He  felt 
that  he  must  in  self-respect  leave  to  his  children  a 
heritage  either  of  wealth  or  a  widely  honored  name. 
He  had  grave  doubts  whether  his  books  would 
bring  him  either.  The  critics  took  particular  pains 
to  point  out  to  him,  not  altogether  correctly,  that, 
though  his  writings  were  interesting,  they  were  not 
"literature." 

The  new  Administration  was  inaugurated  in 
March,  1889.  In  May,  President  Harrison  offered 
Roosevelt  a  place  on  the  Civil  Service  Commission. 

149 


THEODORE    ROOSEVELT 

Roosevelt  had  hoped  that  he  might  be  appointed 
First  Assistant  of  Blaine,  who  was  Secretary  of 
State,  but  Blaine  was  afraid  of  the  younger  man's 
rather  aggressive  independence. 

The  position  of  Civil  Service  Commissioner  was 
not  one  to  appeal  to  an  active  and  ambitious  man. 
It  was  in  a  sense  a  graveyard  where  many  a  good 
man  had  been  deposited  by  his  friends  to  be  heard  of 
no  more.  It  led  nowhere  except  to  oblivion,  for 
the  conflict  which  a  Civil  Service  Commissioner 
must  carry  on  unceasingly  with  Congressmen  on 
questions  of  patronage  is  not  of  a  character  to  make 
smooth  the  road  of  political  advancement. 

Roosevelt's  friends  advised  him  earnestly  not  to 
accept  the  place.  He  would  be  side-tracked  for  life, 
they  said. 

He  believed  heartily  in  civil-service  reform.  He 
was  restless,  moreover,  for  some  definite  work  into 
which  he  could  fling  his  superabundant  energy,  be- 
sides study  and  the  making  of  what  the  critics  stub- 
bornly refused  to  call  "literature." 

He  accepted  the  offer,  to  the  despair  of  his  coun- 
selors, and  immediately  set  out  for  Washington  to 
take  over  his  new  duties. 


CHAPTER  X 

HE  BRINGS  A  GRAVEYARD  TO  LIFE  AND  INCIDENTALLY 
COMES    TO    CLOSE    GRIPS    WITH    A    BEAR 

THEODORE  ROOSEVELT  plunged  into  his  new 
work  with  vigor  and  enthusiasm.  There  was 
much  to  be  done.  The  Civil  Service  Commission 
was  still  in  its  infancy.  Its  friends  looked  upon  it 
hopefully,  but  not  with  the  burning  hope  of  the 
earlier  days  of  the  "reform,"  for  it  had  not  revolu- 
tionized politics  yet;  its  enemies,  the  spoilsmen,  still 
nourished  the  belief  that  they  could  kill  it.  The 
country  at  large,  meanwhile,  knew  next  to  nothing 
about  it. 

The  commission,  consisting  of  two  Republicans 
and  two  Democrats,  had  been  created  six  years  pre- 
vious, after  a  long  struggle  in  which  Roosevelt  as 
an  Assemblyman  in  New  York  had. done  his  share. 
Its  purpose  was  to  eradicate  as  far  as  possible  the 
abuses  which  had  grown  since  the  days  of  President 
Jackson  in  the  matter  of  appointments  to  offices 
under  the  government,  by  supplanting  the  "spoils 
system,"  based  on  favoritism,  with  the  "merit  sys- 
tem," based  on  character  and  ability.  Fourteen 
thousand  minor  offices  had  already  been  brought 


THEODORE    ROOSEVELT 

under  the  jurisdiction  of  the  Civil  Service  Commis- 
sion, but  the  old-time  politicians  who  believed  that 
' '  to  the  victor  belong  the  spoils ' '  yelped  and  howled 
like  hungry  wolves  at  every  attempt  made  by  the 
commission  and  its  friends  in  Congress  to  extend 
what  was  known  as  the  "classified  service." 

Roosevelt  saw  at  once  that  what  the  Civil  Service 
Commission  needed  if  it  were  to  do  effective  work, 
if,  in  fact,  it  were  to  survive  at  all,  was  the  support 
of  an  enlightened  public  opinion.  Roosevelt's  prede- 
cessors on  the  commission,  and  one  or  two  of  the 
commissioners  serving  with  him,  had  conducted  their 
work  with  as  little  publicity  as  possible,  fearing  that 
public  discussion  would  merely  rouse  the  "spoils- 
men" to  fiercer  opposition.  Roosevelt  pursued  the 
opposite  theory.  No  good  cause,  he  believed,  need 
fear  the  light  of  day.  In  a  democracy,  moreover, 
where  the  people  ruled,  or  were  supposed  to  rule, 
it  was,  he  was  convinced,  the  duty  of  every  public 
servant  to  keep  in  constant  touch  with  the  people 
and  to  keep  the  people  in  contact  with  all  civic  move- 
ments. He  therefore  threw  his  doors  wide  to  the 
correspondents  of  newspapers  from  every  section  of 
the  country.  He  took  the  people  into  his  confidence. 
He  told  them  what  civil-service  reform  meant  to 
them;  he  told  them  what  the  "spoils  system"  was 
costing  them.  He  fought  his  battles  with  Congress- 
men and  Senators  in  the  open.  The  whole  country 
watched  the  sparks  fly.  He  advertised  the  merit 
system  as  it  had  never  been  advertised  before,  and 
Congressmen  who  in  the  past  had  opposed  it  began 
to  hear  protests  from  their  districts. 

152 


A    GRAVEYARD    AND    A    BEAR 

Roosevelt  on  the  Civil  Service  Commission  did 
what  Roosevelt  in  the  Assembly  had  done.  He  told 
the  people  what  he  was  doing,  why  he  was  doing  it, 
how  he  was  doing  it,  and  why  and  how  other  people 
were  trying  to  prevent  him  from  doing  it.  He  made 
the  Civil  Service  Commission,  which  had  been  prac- 
tically unknown  outside  a  narrow  circle  of  reformers 
and  their  enemies,  the  topic  of  dinner-table  discussion 
over  the  length  and  breadth  of  the  land;  and  so 
doing  he  made  the  American  people  his  allies  in  the 
fight  for  good  government. 

He  met  misrepresentation  with  a  vigorous  state- 
ment of  facts  and  a  challenge  to  the  man  who  had 
questioned  his  motives.  He  met  frequent  cuts  in 
appropriations  by  the  simple  expedient  of  refusing 
to  hold  examinations  for  the  civil  service  in  the  dis- 
tricts of  Congressmen  who  advocated  the  cuts.  He 
found  that  he  could  safely  rely  on  the  Congressmen's 
constituents  to  bring  their  representatives  to  terms. 

He  enjoyed  the  work,  for  there  was  fight  in  it,  and 
the  enemies  of  good  government  never  left  him 
alone  long  enough  to  allow  the  rather  prosaic  daily 
routine  to  become  dull.  He  fought  certain  Senators, 
like  Gorman  of  Maryland,  for  instance,  who  told  the 
Senate  a  pathetic  story  about  an  estimable  young 
man  who  had  been  rejected  for  a  position  as  letter- 
carrier  because  he  did  not  know  the  shortest  route 
from  Baltimore  to  China;  and  when  Roosevelt  de- 
manded the  name  and  address  of  the  poor  victim 
was  unable  to  produce  them.  He  fought  local 
bosses  in  various  parts  of  the  country  who  tried  in 
one  way  or  another  to  evade  the  civil-service  regu- 

iS3 


THEODORE    ROOSEVELT 

lations;  he  fought  department  chiefs  who  insisted 
on  giving  the  "plums"  to  personal  friends;  he 
fought  a  member  of  President  Harrison's  Cabinet, 
"the  little  gray  man  in  the  White  House,"  as  he 
wrote  his  sister,  "looking  on  with  cold  and  hesitating 
disapproval,  but  not  seeing  how  he  can  interfere." 

During  those  years  his  sister  Anna,  the  "Bamie" 
of  his  boyhood,  was  living  in  England  and  his  corre- 
spondence with  her  reveals  attractive  glimpses  of 
the  life  he  was  leading. 

Washington  is  just  a  big  village  [he  writes  in  February,  1894], 
but  it  is  a  very  pleasant  big  village.  Edith  and  I  meet  just  the 
people  we  like  to  see.  This  winter  we  have  had  a  most  pleasant 
time,  socially  and  officially.  All  I  have  minded  is  that,  though 
my  work  is  pleasant,  I  have  had  to  keep  at  it  so  closely  that 
I  never  get  any  exercise  save  an  occasional  ride  with  Cabot 
[Henry  Cabot  Lodge].  We  dine  out  three  or  four  times  a  week, 
and  have  people  to  dinner  once  or  twice;  so  that  we  hail  the 
two  or  three  evenings  when  we  are  alone  at  home,  and  can  talk 
or  read,  or  Edith  sews  while  I  make  ineffective  bolts  at  my  third 
volume.  The  people  we  meet  are  mostly  those  who  stand  high 
in  the  political  world,  and  who  are  therefore  interested  in  the 
same  subjects  that  interest  us;  while  there  are  enough  whc 
are  men  of  letters  or  of  science  to  give  a  pleasant  and  needed 
variety.  ...  It  is  pleasant  to  meet  people  from  whom  one 
really  gets  something;  people  from  all  over  the  Union  with 
different  pasts  and  varying  interests,  trained,  able,  powerful 
men,  though  often  narrow-minded  enough. 

He  saw  much  of  his  friend  Lodge,  whom  he  had 
known  since  his  college  days,  when  Lodge,  ten  years 
his  senior,  was  an  instructor  in  history  at  Harvard; 
learned  to  know  and  to  cherish  John  Hay  and  greatly 
to  respect  "gruff  old  Olney,"  with  whom  he  quarreled 

iS4 


THEODORE     ROOSEVELT     AS     CIVIL 
SERVICE    COMMISSIONER 


GOVERNOR    ROOSEVELT   AT    SAGAMORE   HILL 


A    GRAVEYARD    AND    A    BEAR 

officially  in  the  mornings  over  the  construction  of 
the  civil-service  law,  and  played  tennis  with  in  the 
afternoons,  continuing  the  controversy  between  sets. 
William  Roscoe  Thayer,  in  his  Life  of  John  Hay,  tells 
how  Roosevelt  made  a  place  for  himself  in  Wash- 
ington society,  "mixing  cheerily  with  all  sorts  of 
men,  equally  at  home  with  Cabinet  officers  and  cow- 
boys, surprising  some,  puzzling  others,  amusing 
nearly  all."  Rudyard  Kipling  used  "to  drop  in  at 
the  Cosmos  Club  at  half  past  ten  or  so  in  the  eve- 
ning," writes  Thayer,  "and  presently  young  Roose- 
velt would  come  and  pour  out  projects,  discussions 
of  men  and  politics,  criticisms  of  books,  in  a  swift 
and  full-volumed  stream,  tremendously  emphatic 
and  enlivened  by  bursts  of  humor.  'I  curled  up  in 
the  seat  opposite,'  said  Kipling,  'and  listened  and 
wondered,  until  the  universe  seemed  to  be  spinning 
round  and  Theodore  was  the  spinner.'" 

As  his  letter  to  his  sister  indicates,  Roosevelt  was 
keeping  up  his  historical  writing,  though  not  without 
difficulty  for  distractions  were  many. 

I  am  very  glad  to  have  been  in  this  position ;  I  think  I  have 
done  good  work,  and  a  man  ought  to  show  that  he  can  go  out 
into  the  world  and  hold  his  own  with  other  men;  but  I  shall 
be  glad  when  I  get  back  to  live  at  Sagamore  and  can  devote 
myself  to  one  definite  piece  of  work.  We  Americans  are  prone 
to  divide  our  efforts  too  much. 

A  little  later  he  writes,  out  of  a  vague  discontent 
with  himself : 

I  have  been  going  out  too  much.  I  wish  I  had  more  chance 
to  work  at  my  books.     Here  I  am  occupied,  but  never  busy, 

155 


THEODORE    ROOSEVELT 

all  day,  and  go  out  in  the  evening;  so  I  don't  feel  as  if  I  were 
really  working  to  lasting  effect. 

Two  years  later  he  was  writing  in  the  same  mood, 
still  certain  that  the  writing  of  books  was  his  real 
career,  "though  I  fear  that  only  a  very  mild  and 
moderate  success  awaits  me." 

It  was  during  these  years  in  Washington  that  his 
elder  children,  now  growing  out  of  babyhood,  began 
to  have  an  increasingly  important  place  in  his  life. 
Every  Sunday  afternoon  he  took  them  to  Rock  Creek 
Park,  a  wilderness  in  those  days,  and  scrambled  up 
and  over  the  crags  with  them.  He  did  not  encourage 
any  of  his  children  to  avoid  the  places  of  danger, 
though  he  generally  carried  a  rope  to  help  them  over 
the  steeper  cliffs. 

Now  and  then,  when  Mrs.  Roosevelt  was  away,  he 
had  his  responsibilities  indoors  and  he  took  them 
with  relish. 

All  this  last  week  [he  writes]  I  have  been  here  alone  with  the 
four  younger  bunnies.  ...  At  breakfast  I  generally  have  to 
tell  Ted  and  Kermit  stories  of  hunting  and  of  ranch  life;  and 
then  Ted  walks  part  way  down  to  the  office  with  me.  In  the 
evening  I  take  my  tea  with  Ted  and  Kermit  and  Ethel  while 
they  are  having  supper,  and  then  I  read,  first  to  the  two  smallest, 
and  afterwards  to  Ted.  As  for  Archie,  he  is  the  sweetest  little 
fellow  in  the  world  and  I  play  with  him  as  much  as  I  possibly 
can.  .  .  .  The  children  are  just  too  sweet  for  anything.  The 
other  day,  discussing  their  futures,  Ted  said,  "I'll  be  a  soldier," 
to  which  Kermit  solemnly  answered,  "I'll  just  be  a  plain  man 
with  bunnies,  like  Father!" 

Meanwhile,  the  "plain  man  with  bunnies"  was 
fighting  the  good  fight  vigorously  and  not  without  a 

156 


A    GRAVEYARD    AND    A    BEAR 

certain  delight  in  making  the  men  of  his  own  party 
toe  the  civil-service  mark  as  strictly  as  the  Demo- 
crats, who,  under  President  Cleveland,  were  in  power 
during  the  greater  part  of  his  period  on  the  com- 
mission. 

I  am  trying  to  persuade  the  President  [he  wrote  early  in  1894] 
to  make  some  real  extensions  of  the  classified  service.  I  only 
wish  he  would  make  all  that  are  possible  now.  If  the  Repub- 
licans do  come  in  again,  I  hope  they'll  have  as  little  patronage 
to  quarrel  over  as  possible. 

The  American  people,  from  Maine  to  California, 
watched  the  dramatic  battle  in  which  Roosevelt  led 
the  forces  of  honesty  and  fair  play  against  the  hordes 
of  corruption  and  favoritism;  and  here  and  there 
young  men  who  dreamed  of  cleaner  politics  and  bet- 
ter government  began  to  take  hope,  seeing  that  a 
man  might  be  honest  and  have  a  high  purpose  and 
nevertheless  be  more  than  a  match  for  the  dishonest 
experts  in  guile.  Here  and  there  young  men  began 
to  realize  that  politics  might  offer  a  career  that  a  self- 
respecting  man  might  follow.  Roosevelt,  endeavor- 
ing to  interest  the  American  people  in  a  great  and 
urgently  necessary  reform,  unconsciously  set  in  mo- 
tion forces  of  progress  which  were  gradually  to  revo- 
lutionize American  politics. 

For  six  years  he  preached  civil  service  reform  to 
the  American  people.  The  people  listened  to  his 
words,  and  forgot  them.  But  they  did  not  forget 
the  ardent  spirit  who  uttered  them.  Words  are  cheap 
and  perishable  things,  but  a  flaming  spirit  burns  his 
mark  on  the  hearts  of  men  and  is  not  forgotten. 

i57 


THEODORE    ROOSEVELT 

Here  and  there  young  men  awoke  to  a  new  vision 
of  justice  and  service. 

And  so,  in  work  and  struggle,  six  years  went  by. 
If  the  Civil  Service  Commission  was,  as  Roosevelt's 
friends  had  declared,  "a  political  graveyard,"  it  was 
during  those  years  the  liveliest  and  most  inspiring 
graveyard  the  world  has  ever  seen. 

Theodore  Roosevelt,  government  official  and 
plague  of  the  spoilsmen,  was,  for  all  the  prickings 
of  his  conscience,  not  neglectful  of  what  he  regarded 
as  his  real  profession,  the  making  of  books.  In  1891 
he  had  published  a  history  of  New  York  City;  two 
years  later  The  Wilderness  Hunter,  a  stirring  narration 
of  his  hunting  experiences  here  and  there  through 
the  West;  and  the  same  year  American  Big  Game 
Hunting,  the  book  of  the  Boone  and  Crockett  Club. 
Two  years  later,  again,  he  published  Hunting  in 
Many  Lands,  likewise  for  the  club ;  and  in  collabora- 
tion with  Henry  Cabot  Lodge,  then  a  member  of  the 
House  of  Representatives,  Hero  Tales  from  American- 
History.  During  the  later  years  of  his  commissioner- 
ship  he  occupied  himself,  whenever  occasion  offered, 
with  The  Winning  of  the  West.  He  was  quite  sure 
that  writing,  and  not  politics,  was  his  true  vocation. 

I  have  really  enjoyed  my  work  [he  writes  to  his  sister,  Mrs. 
Douglas  Robinson,  of  his  Civil  Service  activities].  I  feel  it 
incumbent  on  me  to  try  to  amount  to  something  either  in 
politics  or  literature,  because  I  have  deliberately  given  up  the 
hope  of  going  into  a  money-making  business.  Of  course,  my 
political  life  is  but  an  interlude — it  is  quite  impossible  long  to 
do  much  between  two  such  sets  of  kittle-cattle  as  the  spoilsmen 
and  the  mugwumps. 

158 


A   GRAVEYARD   AND   A    BEAR 

He  lived  mainly  in  Washington,  remaining  at 
his  desk  even  through  the  scorching  summers,  with 
only  occasional  brief  vacations  at  Oyster  Bay. 
Every  autumn,  however,  he  went  West  for  a  month, 
for  half  his  heart  was  always  in  Dakota. 

I  go  on  for  a  hack  at  the  bears  in  the  Rockies  [he  wrote  his 
younger  sister  in  1889].  I  am  so  out  of  training  that  I  look  for- 
ward with  acute  physical  terror  to  going  up  my  first  mountain. 

He  took  his  "hack"  in  September,  just  west  of 
Yellowstone  Park,  in  Idaho.  His  companion  was  a 
'crabbed,  rheumatic  old  mountain  hunter  named 
Hank  Griffin,  who  had  an  extraordinary  gift  for 
finding  game,  but  also  a  surly  temper'1  and  profound 
contempt  for  "tenderfeet,"  especially  "tenderfeet" 
who  wore  spectacles.  He  had  never  "trundled  a 
tenderfoot"  before,  he  remarked,  and  gave  the  im- 
pression that  he  considered  Roosevelt  in  the  light  of 
one  who  had  blackened  his  otherwise  spotless  record. 
He  took  his  revenge  by  lying  abed  late  and  letting 
Roosevelt  do  all  the  work  about  the  camp. 

Finally,  one  day,  he  refused  altogether  to  go  out 
on  the  day's  hunt.    He  had  a  pain,  he  said. 

Roosevelt  went  out  by  himself,  returning  at  dusk, 
to  find  that  the  "pain"  had  during  his  absence  flour- 
ished on  a  fla'sk  of  whisky  which  he  kept  in  his  kit 
for  emergencies.  Hank  was  sitting  very  erect  on  a 
tree-stump,  with  his  rifle  across  his  knees.  Roosevelt 
nodded  in  greeting.  The  guide  leered  at  him.  He 
was  evidently  very  drunk. 

Roosevelt  leaned  his  rifle  against  a  tree  near  the 
cooking-things  and  walked  over  to  where  his  bed- 

i59 


THEODORE    ROOSEVELT 

ding  lay.  He  suspected  that  his  flask  had  been 
tapped.  He  rummaged  among  his  belongings.  The 
flask  was  there,  but  the  whisky  was  gone. 

He  turned  on  the  man  swiftly.  "Hank,  you've 
emptied  my  flask!"  he  cried. 

The  guide  chuckled  drunkenly.  "Suppose  I  have," 
he  said.     "What  are  ye  going  to  do  about  it?" 

"I'll  tell  you  what  I  am  going  to  do  about  it," 
answered  Roosevelt,  hotly.  "I  am  going  to  take  one 
of  the  horses  and  go  on  by  myself." 

Hank  stiffened  up  and  cocked  his  rifle.  "You  can 
go  alone,"  he  muttered,  "but  you  won't  take  a 
horse." 

Roosevelt  saw  that  the  man  was  in  a  dangerous 
mood.  "All  right!"  he  said.  "If  I  can't,  I  can't,  I 
suppose."  Then  he  began  to  move  about,  in  search 
of  some  flour  and  salt  pork.  The  guide,  misled  by 
his  apparent  acceptance  of  the  situation  stared 
straight  ahead  drunkenly. 

Hank  Grifrin's  cocked  rifle  lay  across  his  knees,  the 
muzzle  pointing  to  the  left;  Roosevelt's  rifle  stood 
toward  the  right.  Roosevelt  worked  his  way  unob- 
trusively toward  it.  Then  suddenly  he  whipped  it 
up  and  threw  the  bead  on  the  old  hunter. 

"Hands  up!" 

The  man  put  up  his  hands.  "Oh  come!"  he  said. 
"I  was  only  joking." 

"Well,  I'm  not!"  Roosevelt  replied.  "Straighten 
your  legs  and  let  your  rifle  go  to  the  ground." 

"It '11  go  off." 

"Let it  gooff!" 

But  the  gun  did  not  go  off,  after  all,  for  the  guide 

1 60 


A   GRAVEYARD   AND   A    BEAR 

straightened  his  legs  with  care  so  that  it  slipped  to 
the  ground  without  a  jar. 

"Move  back!" 

The  guide  obeyed  and  Roosevelt  picked  up  the 
rifle.  The  crabbed  old  man  was  quite  sober  now,  and 
quizzical  instead  of  angry. 

1 '  Give  me  back  my  rifle, ' '  he  remarked,  in  a  concilia- 
tory tone,  "an'  we'll  call  it  quits  an'  go  on  together." 

"I  guess  we  won't  do  that,"  said  Roosevelt.  "The 
hunt's  about  through  anyway,  and  I  think  I'll  go 
home."  He  pointed  to  a  blasted  pine  on  an  eminence 
about  a  mile  from  camp.  "Do  you  see  that  pine? 
If  I  see  you  in  camp  when  I  reach  there,  I'll  leave 
your  rifle  there  for  you.  If  you  try  to  come  after 
me,  I'll  take  it  for  granted  that  you  mean  to  get  me 
if  you  can,  and  I'll  shoot." 

"I'm  not  coming  after  you,"  grumbled  the  guide. 

Roosevelt  started  off,  taking  his  little  mare,  his 
bed-roll,  and  half  the  remaining  supply  of  flour, 
bacon,  and  tea.  At  the  blasted  pine  he  stopped  and 
looked  around.  Old  Hank  was  still  in  camp.  Roose- 
velt left  the  rifle  at  the  tree  and  pressed  on.  At  dusk 
he  stopped  and  cooked  his  supper.  He  did  not  believe 
that  the  old  hunter  would  follow  him,  but  there  was 
just  a  chance  that  he  might.  So  he  made  use  of  a 
familiar  trick  of  the  trappers  in  the  old  Indian  days. 
Leaving  his  camp-fire  burning  brightly,  he  pushed 
ahead  until  darkness  made  further  progress  impos- 
sible. Picketing  the  mare,  but  building  no  fire,  he 
lay  down  and  slept  until  the  first  streak  of  dawn, 
then  again  pushed  on  for  two  hours  or  more  before 
halting  to  cook  breakfast, 
ll  161 


THEODORE    ROOSEVELT 

There  was  no  trail,  but  he  kept  his  course  along 
the  foot-hills  where  glades  and  little  prairies  broke 
the  pine  forest ;  and  it  was  not  until  the  end  of  this, 
the  second  day  of  his  solitary  journeying,  that  he 
had  difficulty  finding  his  way.  That  afternoon,  how- 
ever, he  became  enmeshed  in  a  tangle  of  winding 
valleys  at  the  foot  of  the  steep  mountains.  Dusk 
was  coming  on.  For  the  moment  he  was  "lost."  He 
decided  to  camp  where  he  was.  He  threw  his  pack 
and  his  buffalo  sleeping-bag  on  the  soft  pine  needles 
and  strolled  off  through  the  frosty  gloaming  with  his 
rifle  on  his  shoulder,  to  see  if  he  could  pick  up  a 
grouse  for  his  supper. 

He  found  no  grouse.  Among  the  tall,  slender  pines 
the  daylight  was  rapidly  fading  and  he  turned  tow- 
ard his  camp  again  at  last. 

Suddenly,  as  he  stole  noiselessly  up  to  the  crest  of 
a  ridge,  he  caught  the  loom  of  a  large,  dark  object. 

It  was  a  great  grizzly,  walking  slowly  off  with  his 
head  down. 

Roosevelt  fired.  The  bear  uttered  a  loud,  moaning 
grunt  and  plunged  forward  at  a  heavy  gallop.  Roose- 
velt ran  to  cut  him  off.  The  bear  entered  a  laurel 
thicket,  and  for  a  time  remained  hidden  in  the 
jungle  of  twisted  stems  and  foliage,  now  and  again 
uttering  a  strange,  savage  whine.  Roosevelt  began 
to  skirt  the  edge,  peering  anxiously  through  the  dusk. 

The  bear  plunged  out  of  the  laurel  on  the  farther 
side,  wheeled,  and  stood  for  a  moment  broadside  to 
the  hunter.  Stiffly  he  turned  his  head.  Scarlet 
strings  of  froth  hung  from  his  lips;  his  eyes  burned 
like  embers  in  the  gloom. 

162 


A    GRAVEYARD    AND    A    BEAR 

Roosevelt  fired  again.  Instantly  the  great  bear 
turned  with  a  harsh  roar  of  fury  and  challenge,  blow- 
ing the  bloody  foam  from  his  mouth.  Roosevelt 
saw  his  white  fangs  gleam  as  the  grizzly  charged 
straight  at  him,  crashing  and  bounding  through  the 
laurel-bushes.  He  did  not  fire  at  once.  The  raging 
animal  came  plunging  on.  As  he  topped  a  fallen 
tree,  Roosevelt  fired  again.  The  ball  went  through 
the  bear's  chest,  but  the  grizzly  neither  swerved  nor 
flinched,  but  came  steadily  on.  Roosevelt  had  only 
one  more  shot  in  his  magazine,  and  in  a  second  the 
bear  would  be  upon  him. 

He  fired  for  the  beast's  forehead,  but  his  bullet 
went  low,  smashing  the  bear's  lower  jaw  and  entering 
his  neck.  Roosevelt  leaped  aside  even  as  he  pulled 
the  trigger.  The  smoke  hung  for  an  instant,  and 
through  it  he  saw  a  great  paw  striking  viciously  at 
him.  He  flung  himself  back,  hurriedly  jamming  a 
couple  of  cartridges  into  his  rifle.  The  rush  of  the 
grizzly's  charge  carried  him  past  his  pursuer.  As  he 
struck  he  lurched  forward,  recovered  himself,  and 
made  two  or  three  leaps  onward;  then  suddenly 
collapsed,  rolling  over  and  over. 

Roosevelt's  "hack  at  the  bears"  had  been  suc- 
cessful. 

For  a  time  he  had  still  kept  cattle  on  his  ranges 
in  the  Bad  Lands,  with  Merrifield  and  the  Ferrises 
in  charge  at  Elkhorn.  In  1890  he  was  at  the  ranch 
with  Mrs.  Roosevelt;  a  year  later  he  hunted  elk 
with  an  Englishman  named  Ferguson,  now  his 
ranch  partner,  at  Two-Ocean  Pass  in  the  Shoshones 

163 


THEODORE    ROOSEVELT 

in  northwestern  Wyoming.  That  autumn  he  closed 
the  ranch-house.  A  year  later  he  returned  to  Elk- 
horn  for  a  week's  hunting.  The  wild  forces  of  nature 
had  already  taken  possession.  The  ranch  grass  grew 
tall  in  the  yard  and  on  the  sodded  roofs  of  the  stables 
and  sheds ;  the  weather-beaten  log  walls  of  the  house 
itself  were  one  in  tint  with  the  trunks  of  the  gnarled 
cottonwoods  by  which  it  was  shaded. 

"The  ranch-house  is  in  good  repair,"  he  wrote  to 
Bill  Sewall,  "but  it  is  melancholy  to  see  it  deserted." 

His  life  had  wonderfully  expanded  since  the  golden 
days  of  the  ranch,  seven  years  before;  but  those 
days  had  held  a  zest  and  glory  which  no  success  or 
family  happiness  could  ever  crowd  from  their  unique 
place  in  his  memory. 

The  men  and  women  who  had  been  his  compan- 
ions in  hardship  and  adventure  were  scattered.  The 
Ferrises  had  retired  on  their  earnings,  Merrifield  had 
moved  to  Oregon,  the  Sewalls  had  settled  down  again 
to  the  life  of  the  Maine  backwoodsman,  Will  Dow 
was  dead. 

A  year  or  two  later  the  waters  of  the  Little  Mis- 
souri rose  and  flooded  the  banks  and  carried  away  the 
ranch-house,  and  that  was  the  end  of  that  chapter  in 
the  life  of  Theodore  Roosevelt. 


CHAPTER  XI 

HE  JUMPS  INTO  A  TIGER'S  DEN  AND  EMERGES,  TO  THE 
DISCOMFITURE    OF   THE   TIGER 

ROOSEVELT  resigned  his  position  on  the  Civil 
"  Service  Commission  in  the  spring  of  1895,  and 
returned  to  New  York  to  take  up  a  commissionership 
of  a  different  sort. 

A  wave  of  virtuous  indignation  had  in  the  autumn 
of  1894  thrown  Tammany  Hall  out  of  power  in  New 
York  City  and  instated  a  non-partisan  group  of 
public-spirited  citizens  under  Mayor  Strong.  Roose- 
velt, who  in  his  first  political  fight  in  the  Republican 
organization  of  the  Twenty-first  Assembly  District 
had  been  snowed  under  on  a  motion  to  commit  the 
organization  to  a  non-partisan  system  of  street- 
cleaning,  was  offered  the  position  of  Street  Clean- 
ing Commissioner. 

I  have  been  dreadfully  harassed  over  this  offer  of  Strong's 
[he  wrote  his  sister  "Bamie,"  in  December,  1894].  Finally  I  re- 
fused, after  much  hesitation.  I  should  much  have  liked  to  help 
him,  and  to  find  myself  again  in  close  touch  with  my  New  York 
friends;  but  I  was  not  willing  to  leave  this  work  at  this  time, 
just  when  the  ends  are  loose. 

In  April  of  the  following  year  the  Mayor  offered 
him    the    Police    Commissionership.      His    friends, 

165 


THEODORE    ROOSEVELT 

notably  Lodge,  whose  judgment  he  trusted,  urged 
him  to  accept. 

I  hated  to  leave  Washington  [he  wrote],  for  I  love  the  life;  and 
I  shall  have,  if  I  go,  much  hard  work,  and  I  will  hardly  be  able 
to  keep  on  with  my  literary  matters.  Moreover,  it  is  a  position 
in  which  it  is  absolutely  impossible  to  do  what  will  be  expected 
of  me;  the  conditions  will  not  admit  it.  I  must  make  up  my 
mind  to  much  criticism  and  disappointment.  But,  on  the  other 
hand,  I  am  nearly  through  what  I  can  do  here;  and  this  is  a 
good  way  of  leaving  a  position  which  I  greatly  like  but  which 
I  do  not  wish  permanently  to  retain,  and  I  think  it  a  good  thing 
to  be  definitely  identified  with  my  city  once  more.  I  would  like 
to  do  my  share  in  governing  the  city  after  our  great  victory; 
and  so  far  as  may  be,  I  would  like  once  more  to  have  my  voice 
in  political  matters.  It  was  a  rather  close  decision;  but  on  the 
whole  I  felt  I  ought  to  go,  though  it  is  "taking  chances." 

He  began  his  new  work  early  in  May,  1895. 

The  Force  had,  through  years  of  Tammany  mis- 
government,  become  demoralized  by  favoritism  and 
corruption.  There  was  a  regular  table  of  charges  for 
appointments  and  promotions,  so  much  for  admis- 
sion to  the  Force,  so  much  for  each  step  upward.  A 
man  without  money  or  political  backing  had  no  hope 
of  advancement.  Graft  was  everywhere.  Criminals 
received  immunity.  Policemen,  on  the  other  hand, 
were  punished  for  making  arrests  against  the  wishes 
of  the  politicians.  The  morale  of  the  rank  and  file 
had  consequently  suffered.  While  the  few  who  were 
dishonest  intrigued  and  "grafted"  and  grew  power- 
ful, the  majority  who  were  "square"  lost  heart  in 
their  work  and  pride  in  the  Force.  The  poison  of 
corruption  sapped  their  energy  and  purpose. 

166 


A   TIGER'S    DEN 

"The  Police  Department  was  in  a  coma,"  said  a 
lieutenant  of  police,  many  years  later,  "and  Roose- 
velt woke  it  up." 

"He  put  new  morale  into  the  Force,"  said  a  cap- 
tain of  police.  "All  payments  for  advancement 
stopped  at  once.  No  political  boss  could  appoint, 
promote,  or  injure  you.  Promotions  were  strictly 
on  the  level.  No  man  was  afraid  to  do  his  duty 
while  Roosevelt  was  commissioner,  because  he  knew 
that  the  commissioner  was  behind  him.  The  crooks 
were  afraid  of  the  cops — and  the  cops  were  not  afraid 
of  the  crooks.  All  the  decent,  manly  fellows  on  the 
Force  loved  this  strenuous  master  who  led  them.  He 
was  human.  You  could  talk  to  him.  He  made  even 
people  with  a  shady  past  feel  at  home  with  him." 

"No  matter  how  you  felt  when  you  were  going 
to  him,"  said  the  lieutenant  of  police,  "when  you 
were  with  him  you  felt  you  were  as  good  as  he  was. 
He  gets  acquainted  with  me  as  an  East  Side  kid,  and 
because  I  was  a  genuine  East  Side  kid  he  stuck  to 
me.  And  he  made  me  feel  that  he  would  sooner  be 
seen  in  the  company  of  me  and  my  kind  than  in  the 
company  of  ambassadors  and  kings." 

"It  took  some  months,"  said  the  captain  of  police, 
"to  give  the  Force  their  faith  in  Roosevelt.  They 
thought  he  might  be  just  a  flash  in  the  pan.  But 
they  found  out  soon  there  was  no  bunk  in  him.  He 
had  an  open  door  for  any  member  of  the  Force. 
Every  man  who  really  tried  to  do  right  or,  having 
gone  crooked,  reformed  and  showed  he  was  trying 
to  do  right,  always  received  a  fair  chance.  He  de- 
tested  cowardice  and   shirking  and   the   milk-and- 

167 


THEODORE    ROOSEVELT 

water  men,  but  he  always  stuck  to  the  man  who 
proved  he  was  doing  or  trying  to  do  his  job." 

"He  was  a  great  sticker,"  said  the  lieutenant  of 
police. 

"The  whole  thing  in  a  nutshell  was  this,"  said 
the  captain  of  police.  ' '  The  Force,  kickers,  gamblers, 
and  all,  knew  in  their  hearts  that  if  they  gave  good 
and  faithful  service  this  man  Roosevelt  would  stick 
to  them.  And  if  they  incurred  the  enmity  of  the 
underworld  or  the  political  world,  no  unjust  accu- 
sation would  hurt  them.  It  would  help  them,  if 
anything." 

"I've  had  my  troubles  on  the  Force  since  he  left," 
said  the  lieutenant  of  police,  "and  there's  been  times 
when  I've  felt,  just  as  any  man  would,  like  getting 
my  revenge,  when  the  chance  came,  on  men  who 
were  trying  to  hurt  me,  or  doing  things  that  other 
men  were'doing,  but  that  weren't  just  all  right.  But 
I  thought  of  him  and  I  didn't  do  them.  I  said  to 
myself,  People  know  that  you're  his  friend  and  what 
you  do  reflects  on  him.  You  have  a  right  to  dabble 
with  your  own  reputation,  but  you  haven't  a  right 
to  dabble  with  his." 

"I  guess,"  said  the  captain  of  police,  "that  nine- 
tenths  of  the  men  that's  ever  come  in  contact  with 
Theodore  Roosevelt  are  better  and  squarer  men 
because  of  it." 

The  lieutenant  of  police  was  an  East  Side  Jew 
named  Otto  Raphael;  the  captain  of  police  was  an 
Irishman  named  Edward  Bourke.  Both  owed  their 
careers  to  the  new  ideas  which  Roosevelt  introduced 

1 68 


A   TIGER'S    DEN 

at  Headquarters  on  Mulberry  Street.  Under  the 
old  system,  Raphael  would  never  have  had  a  chance 
even  to  join  the  Force,  for  he  had  neither  money  nor 
influence;  and  Bourke  would  have  been  dishonorably 
discharged  and  sent  "up  the  river,"  for  he  had  dared 
to  do  the  unpardonable  thing  and  to  arrest  a  law- 
breaker who  had  a  "pull"  with  Tammany  Hall. 
Roosevelt  picked  Raphael  out  of  a  crowd  because  he 
liked  his  face,  and  urged  him  to  take  the  examina- 
tions; and  by  his  unexpected  appearance  in  a  po- 
lice court  saved  Bourke  from  the  "frame-up"  that 
was  to  send  him  to  the  penitentiary  because  he  had 
obeyed  orders  and  closed  a  saloon  that  no  "copper" 
had  ever  had  the  nerve  to  close  before.  His  ac- 
tion in  both  cases  was  of  a  sort  unheard  of  in  Mul- 
berry Street.  It  marked  the  beginning  of  a  new 
order. 

Roosevelt  plunged  into  the  work  of  reform  with 
passionate  enthusiasm.  He  had  enjoyed  his  Wash- 
ington activity ;  he  had  enjoyed  the  fight  of  it.  But 
the  activity  had  been  comparatively  tame  and  the 
fights,  though  hot,  were  never  dangerous.  To  put 
integrity  and  pride  and  spirit  back  into  a  corrupted 
and  disrupted  police  force  was  a  different  matter, 
less  akin  to  the  desk  work  of  a  Washington  office  than 
to  the  wild  adventures  of  the  Dakota  days.  In  Mul- 
berry Street  his  work  lay  among  strong,  fearless,  and 
often  defiant  and  desperate  men.  It  called  into  play 
every  ounce  of  courage  and  manliness  he  possessed. 
The  agents  of  evil  within  the  Force  allied  themselves 
against  him  with  the  agents  of  evil  without.  Yellow 
newspapers  blackened  his  character,  the  politicians 

169 


THEODORE    ROOSEVELT 

even  of  his  own  party  endeavored  to  intimidate  him 
and,  failing,  to  legislate  him  out  of  office. 

The  trouble  was  that  every  move  he  made  for 
honesty  and  justice  in  the  Force  and  in  the  execution 
of  the  laws  brought  him  into  conflict  with  the  whole 
elaborate  system  which  corrupt  police  officers,  cor- 
rupt politicians,  corrupt  business  men,  and  the 
agents  of  the  underworld  had  built  up  to  make  easy 
the  way  of  the  (influential)  transgressor.  The  first 
great  clash  came  over  the  enforcement  of  the  so- 
called  excise  law,  demanding  that  all  saloons  in  the 
state  be  closed  on  Sunday. 

The  law  was  extreme  and  public  sentiment  was 
against  it.  It  was  on  the  statutes,  however,  and 
Roosevelt  decided  that  respect  for  law  and  order 
demanded  that  it  be  enforced.  He  set  about  vigor- 
ously to  enforce  it. 

A  howl  arose  from  all  sides.  The  saloon-keepers, 
the  brewers,  the  politicians,  the  yellow  journals  in- 
dignantly cried  that  the  law  was  "dead,"  that  it 
had  never  been  enforced  and  never  could  be  enforced. 

Roosevelt  replied  that  if  the  law  was  dead  the 
thing  to  do  was  to  repeal  it. 

He  found  out  shortly,  however,  that  it  was  not 
"dead"  at  all,  and  that  the  police  had  been  enforcing 
it  right  and  left  with  vigor.  But  they  had  been  en- 
forcing it  not  against  all  saloon-keepers  alike,  but 
only  against  those  who  had  no  political  influence. 
The  men  who  paid  blackmail  to  Tammany  Hall 
were  safe.  The  men  who  refused  to  pay  were  sub- 
jected to  every  form  of  petty  tyranny  and  injustice. 
Roosevelt  found  that,  as  formerly  in  the  matter  of 

170 


A   TIGER'S    DEN 


appointments  and  promotions  on  the  Force,  there 
were  fixed  charges  for  police  "protection"  covering 
every  variety  of  lawbreaking. 

He  flung  all  his 
energy  into  the  fight. 
Once  more  he  ap- 
pealed to  the  peo- 
ple. The  scoffers 
cried  that  he  was 
merely  seeking  the 
lime -light,  but  he 
himself  knew  that 
the  only  hope  of 
real  reform  lay  in 
the  creation  of  a 
public  sentiment 
against  the  evils  of 
police  corruption. 
He  told  the  citizens 
of  New  York  what 
he  was  trying  to  do 
to  make  their  city  a 
safe  and  decent 
place  to  live  in,  and 
demanded  their  sup- 
port.  "I  would 
rather  see  this  ad- 
ministration turned 
out  because   it   en 

forced  the  laws,"  he  cried,  "than  see  it  succeed  by 
violating  them." 

A  parade  was  arranged  in  protest  against  his  en- 


AN   IMPREGNABLE   SHIELD 
(From  the  Pittsburg  Gazette-Times) 


THEODORE    ROOSEVELT 

forcement  of  the  excise  law.  Twenty  thousand  men 
were  in  line.    Jeeringly,  he  was  invited  to  review  it. 

It  was  a  defiant  challenge,  intended  as  a  joke.  To 
the  amazement  and  consternation  of  the  men  who 
made  it,  he  accepted  it. 

He  reviewed  the  parade.  It  was  the  case  of  the 
Marquis  de  Mores  over  again.  The  Marquis  had 
wanted  to  shoot  him,  the  saloon-keepers  wanted  to 
kill  him  politically.  In  both  cases  his  quick  and 
decisive  action  saved  the  day. 

The  parade  began  with  jeers  and  sneers  for  Roose- 
velt. It  ended  in  the  wildest  enthusiasm  for  the  man 
against  whose  policy  the  parade  was  supposed  to  be 
a  protest! 

While  the  struggle  on  the  saloon  question  con- 
tinued, Roosevelt  was  diligently  building  up  the 
morale  and  discipline  of  the  Force.  His  enormous 
energy,  his  courage,  his  knowledge  of  men  and  sym- 
pathy with  human  nature,  his  ability  to  defy  and 
crush  the  evil-doers  with  an  iron  hand  and  yet  keep 
his  heart  tender  and  warm  for  the  saving  grace  of 
humanity  in  them — these  characteristic  qualities  of 
his  had  never  shone  to  better  advantage. 

The  lawbreakers  [wrote  Jacob  Riis]  predicted  scornfully  that 
he  would  "knuckle  down  to  politics  the  way  they  all  did,"  and 
lived  to  respect  him,  though  they  swore  at  him  as  the  one 
of  them  all  who  was  stronger  than  pull. 

To  the  Force  he  was  like  a  continuous  electric  cur- 
rent that  galvanized  to  life  what  had  been  an  inert 
lump.  The  newspapers  called  him  "Haroun-al- 
Roosevelt"    because   night   after   night   he   would 

172 


A   TIGER'S    DEN 

prowl  about  the  streets  of  the  East  Side  between 
midnight  and  dawn,  or  ride  on  horseback  through  the 
wilds  of  the  Bronx,  with  only  Otto  Raphael  for  com- 
pany, to  see  for  himself  how  the  men  were  perform- 
ing their  duty. 

Twice  [this  week]  I  have  spent  the  night  in  patrolling  New 
York  on  my  own  account  [he  wrote  his  sister  after  he  had  been 
in  office  a  month]  to  see  exactly  what  the  men  were  doing.  My 
experiences  were  interesting,  and  the  trips  did  good,  though 
each  meant  my  going  forty  hours  at  a  stretch  without  any 
sleep — tramping  the  streets,  finding  out  by  personal  inspection 
how  the  police  were  doing  their  duty.  A  good  many  were  not 
doing  their  duty;  and  I  had  a  line  of  huge,  frightened  guardians 
of  the  peace  down  for  reprimand  or  fine,  as  a  sequel.  .  .  . 
These  midnight  rambles  are  great  fun.  My  whole  work  brings 
me  in  contact  with  every  class  of  people  in  New  York,  as  no 
other  work  possibly  could;  and  I  get  a  glimpse  of  the  real  life 
of  the  swarming  millions. 

He  became  the  terror  of  the  sluggard  even  as  he 
was  the  idol  of  the  man  who  did  his  duty. 

"For  the  first  time,"  said  Riis,  "a  moral  purpose 
came  into  Mulberry  Street.  In  the  light  of  it  every- 
thing was  transformed." 

To  men  like  Riis  who  had  fought  for  playgrounds 
and  better  tenement  conditions,  the  coming  of  Roose- 
velt meant  the  fulfilment  of  the  dreams  of  a  lifetime. 
No  wonder  Riis  worshiped  him  as  a  sort  of  archangel 
come  down  from  heaven  to  repair  all  the  ills  of  man- 
kind. Riis  had  pleaded  for  years  in  vain  for  some- 
thing more  useful  to  the  poor  of  Mulberry  Bend 
than  distant  pity  and  tenement-house  laws  which 
were  never  enforced.    Roosevelt  had  come  to  him 

i73 


THEODORE    ROOSEVELT 

even  before  he  was  commissioner,  saying,  "I  want 
to  help."    Riis  took  him  at  his  word. 

"He  wasn't  satisfied  with  what  the  socialists 
handed  him,"  said  Otto  Raphael.  "He  went  to  it 
himself.     Nothing  would  stop  him." 


COMMISSIONER    ROOSEVELT    AT    HIS    DESK    AT    POLICE 
HEADQUARTERS   ON   MULBERRY  STREET 

(From  a  drawing  made  from  life  for  the  Review  of  Reviews) 


And  nothing  did.  Winter  and  summer,  but  most 
in  hot  midsummer  nights,  Roosevelt  went  with  Riis 
through  the  tenements  to  see  for  himself  how  "the 
other  half"  lived.  Neither  filth  nor  stench  could 
hold  him  back.  The  president  of  the  Police  Board 
was  also  a  member  of  the  Health  Commission.  It 
was  therefore  very  much  the  business  of  the  Police, 

174 


A   TIGER'S    DEN 

Commissioner  to  find  out  why  in  one  group  of  tene- 
ments off  Mulberry  Bend  one-third  of  all  the  babies 
died.  Other  commissioners  had  not  bothered  about 
it.    Roosevelt  did. 

The  tenements  came  down.  Other  tenements 
came  down.  Landlords  protested  and  rushed  to  the 
courts.  But  they  got  no  satisfaction.  Parks  and 
playgrounds  were  opened,  the  overcrowded  old 
Tombs  prison  was  demolished  and  a  new  one  erected 
on  its  site,  the  police  lodging-houses,  which  had 
degenerated  into  harbors  for  every  species  of  tramp 
and  vagrant  and  nurseries  of  every  variety  of  crime, 
were  closed. 

And  always  the  "grafters"  howled,  and  the  yellow 
newspapers  jeered,  fanning  the  flame  of  class  hatred, 
and  the  timid,  good  people  protested  and,  because 
they  did  not  understand,  lent  their  strength  to  the 
people  who  were  neither  timid  nor  good. 

In  the  New  York  political  world  just  at  present  [he  wrote 
his  sister,  after  he  had  been  eight  months  in  office]  every  man's 
hand  is  against  me;  every  politician  and  every  editor;  and  I 
live  in  a  welter  of  small  intrigue.  ...  I  rather  think  that  in 
one  way  or  another  I  shall  be  put  out  of  office  before  many 
months  go  by.  But  as  I  don't  see  what  else  I  could  have  done, 
I  take  things  with  much  philosophy  and  will  abide  the  event 
unmoved.     I  have  made  my  blows  felt,  at  any  rate! 

Day  by  day  the  struggle  became  more  bitter. 

I  work — and  fight! — from  dawn  until  dusk,  almost;  and  the 
difficulties,  the  opposition,  the  lukewarm  support,  I  encounter, 
give  me  hours  of  profound  depression;  but  at  bottom  I  know 
the  work  has  been  well  worth  doing,  and  that  I  have  done  it 

175 


THEODORE    ROOSEVELT 

as  well  as  it  could  be  done,  and  what  I  most  care  for  is  its  in- 
tensely practical,  workaday  character;  it  is  a  grimy  struggle, 
but  a  vital  one. 

Two  weeks  later  he  was  writing: 

All  day  I  strive  to  push  matters  along ;  to  keep  on  good  terms 
with  the  Mayor,  while  rejecting  his  advice  and  refusing  to  obey 
his  orders;  not  to  be  drawn  into  a  personal  quarrel  with  Piatt; 
not  to  let  my  colleagues  split  either  among  themselves  or  with 
me;  to  work  with  reformers  like  Dr.  Parkhurst,  and  yet  not 
let  them  run  away  with  the  Department;  to  keep  weeding  out 
the  bad  men;  to  attend  to  the  thousand  complaints,  well  and 
ill  founded,  of  citizens;  to  try  to  improve  discipline,  and  to 
build  up  the  detective  bureau  and  develop  leaders;  and  so  on 
and  so  on.    By  evening  I  am  pretty  well  tired. 

Gradually  it  began  to  dawn  on  the  minds  of  the 
people  of  the  city  that  the  Police  Department  was 
becoming  more  efficient  than  it  had  been  at  any 
previous  time  in  its  history  and  ' '  the  screeching  men- 
dacity of  the  newspapers"  began  gradually  to  "wear 
through."  But  the  politicians  of  both  parties  con- 
tinued to  fight  him,  hammer  and  tongs. 

There  is  nothing  of  the  purple  in  it  [he  wrote  of  his  work  in 
June,  1896].  It  is  as  grimy  as  all  work  for  municipal  reform 
over  here  must  be  for  some  decades  to  come;  and  it  is  incon- 
ceivably arduous,  disheartening,  and  irritating,  beyond  almost 
all  other  work  of  the  kind.  ...  I  have  to  contend  with  the 
hostility  of  Tammany,  and  the  almost  equal  hostility  of  the 
Republican  machine;  I  have  to  contend  with  the  folly  of  the 
reformers  and  the  indifference  of  decent  citizens;  above  all  I 
have  to  contend  with  the  singularly  foolish  law  under  which  we 
administer  the  Department.  The  work  itself  is  hard,  worrying, 
and  often  very  disagreeable.  The  police  deal  with  vile  crime 
and  hideous  vice;  and  it  is  not  work  to  be  done  on  a  rose- 
water  basis.    The  actual  fighting,  with  any  of  my  varied  foes, 

176 


A   TIGER'S    DEN 

I  do  not  much  mind;  I  take  it  as  part  of  the  day's  work;  but 
there  is  much  that  is  painful.  But  fight  after  fight  is  won,  and 
its  very  memory  vanishes. 

Meanwhile,  his  efforts  had  been  made  even  more 
difficult  by  constantly  increasing  friction  with  other 
members  of  the  board.  His  "queer,  strong,  able 
colleague,"  Parker,  whom  he  had  described  a  year 
before  as  "the  most  positive  character  with  whom  I 
have  ever  worked  on  a  commission,"  had  turned 
violently  against  him.  "If  he  and  I  get  at  odds," 
Roosevelt  had  prophesied,  "we  shall  have  a  battle 
royal,"  and  a  battle  royal  it  turned  out  to  be. 

I  have  endless  petty  rows  with  Fitch  and  Parker;  very  irritat- 
ing, because  they  are  so  petty;  but  very  necessary;  the  battle 
for  decent  government  must  be  won  by  just  such  interminable, 
grimy  drudgery;  painful  months  of  marching  and  skirmishing, 
mostly  indecisive;  the  "glorious  days"  of  striking  victory,  are 
few  and  far  between,  and  never  take  place  at  all  unless  there  is 
plenty  of  this  disagreeable,  preliminary  work. 

Parker  blocked  every  move  he  endeavored  to  make 
toward  better  conditions  on  the  Force  and  among 
the  poor. 

"Lord!"  Roosevelt  exclaimed  in  one  of  his  letters. 
"It  is  hard  work  trying  to  really  accomplish  some- 
thing in  civic  reform!" 

The  fight  within  the  board  was  as  bitter  in  its  way 
as  the  fight  against  the  lawbreakers,  the  "grafters," 
and  the  landlords  who  wanted  their  dollars  and  did 
not  care  though  the  blood  of  children  dripped  from 
them.  It  hampered  the  work  of  reform  and  threat- 
ened to  destroy  the  new  spirit  and  discipline  of  the 

12  177 


THEODORE    ROOSEVELT 

Force.  But  Roosevelt  knew  that  the  things  for  which 
he  fought  were  right,  and  raged  at  the  short-sighted- 
ness which  insisted  on  blocking  the  gears  of  progress 
and  justice.  Respectable  people  were  shocked  be- 
cause he  lost  his  temper.  But  he  was  human,  and 
he  saw  better  than  they  the  enormous  needs  to  be 
met  and  the  powers  of  evil  to  be  conquered. 

It  was,  as  he  described  it,  a  "grimy"  struggle, 
but  the  letters  of  this  period  reveal  how  little  of  the 
grime  remained  on  the  man  who  spent  his  days  in 
the  midst  of  it.  The  children  at  Sagamore  furnished, 
it  seems,  a  kind  of  spiritual  bath  that  amid  every 
variety  of  crime  and  vice  kept  him  clean  and  strong. 
His  letters  are  full  of  the  amusing  doings  of  "the 
bunnies."  In  the  very  midst  of  one  of  his  "chronic" 
fights  he  was  writing  from  Sagamore  Hill: 

The  children  are  in  the  seventh  heaven;  I  wish  you  could  see 
their  costumes,  especially  Kermit's;  he  wears  blue  overalls  like 
those  of  our  hired  man,  with  a  cap  like  that  of  a  second-rate 
French  cook,  a  pair  of  shabby  tennis  shoes,  and  as  his  hands 
are  poisonned  a  pair  of  exceedingly  dirty  kid  gloves.  When,  in 
this  costume,  turning  somersaults  on  the  manure-heap  he  is 
indeed  a  joy  forever.  Ted  has  suddenly  begun  greatly  to  enjoy 
riding  pony  Grant.  Archie  is  the  sweetest  thing  you  ever  saw 
and  perfectly  friendly  with  cows,  dogs,  and  horses.  I  have  been 
teaching  Ted  and  Kermit  to  shoot  with  the  Flobert  rifle.  .  .  . 
We  went  on  a  picnic  to  the  rnarsh  [he  wrote  a  month  later]. 
We  were  out  six  or  seven  hours,  Alice  steering  one  boat,  while 
Edith  steered  mine.  Ted  enjoyed  himself  hugely,  and  on  the 
way  home  slumbered  peacefully  in  the  bilgewater. 

The  autumn  brought  delights  of  its  own: 

Bob  [Robert  Ferguson]  passed  Thanksgiving  day  here,  and 
was  just  a  dear,  and  the  same  playmate  as  ever.    In  the  after- 

178 


A   TIGER'S    DEN 

noon  he  and  I  and  Ted  took  a  ten-mile  tramp,  with  axes,  to 
clear  out  a  bridle  track  which  had  become  overgrown.  Ted 
really  stood  the  walk  wonderfully.  We  came  home  after  dark. 
The  faithful  Susan  [a  pet  of  the  children  who  had  been  named 
regardless  of  his  sex]  was  with  us,  and  at  the  foot  of  our  hill 
he  treed  a  'possum.  So  Bob  ran  for  a  gun,  while  Ted  (who 
had  reached  the  tree,  and  had  seen  the  'possum  before  either 
Bob  or  myself)  and  Susan  and  I  stayed  to  keep  ward  over  the 
'possum.  Bob  returned  leading  the  delighted  Kermit,  who, 
as  we  returned  in  triumph  with  our  quarry,  explained  "that 
it  was  the  first  time  he  had  ever  seen  a  fellow  shot."  He  felt 
as  if  it  was  much  like  any  other  homicide;  but  much  approved 
of  it. 

Ted  [aged  eight]  chops  hard  with  me;  to-day  he  got  down 
an  oak  at  least  sixty  feet  high. 

Christmas  brought  a  magic  all  its  own.  There 
was  first  the  excitement  of  selecting  the  tree,  packing 
into  a  carriage,  old  and  young,  and  driving  through 
the  woods  under  the  gray  sky  amid  the  joyous  racket 
of  the  dogs.  The  master  of  Sagamore  himself  al- 
ways chopped  down  the  tree.  Then  on  Christmas 
morning  there  were  first  the  bulging  stockings,  then 
the  rush  of  bare  feet  into  the  room  of  the  father  and 
mother  where  the  larger  presents  were;  then  the 
drive  to  the  little  church  and  the  short  address  of 
Oyster  Bay's  Leading  Citizen;  and  then  home  again 
to  roast  pig  and  "hearts"  before  the  roaring  wood 
fire. 

Romping  at  Sagamore  Hill,  fighting  in  Mulberry 
Street,  plowing  ahead  on  the  fourth  volume  of  his 
Winning  of  the  West  when  occasion  offered,  making 
speeches  sometimes  night  after  night,  the  object 
of  endless  abuse  in  New  York  and  the  lion  of  the 

179 


THEODORE    ROOSEVELT 

hour  in  Chicago  when  he  made  the  Washington's 
Birthday  address  there  under  the  auspices  of  the 
Union  League  Club,  Theodore  Roosevelt  lived  his 
crowded  life.  He  took  part  in  the  Presidential  cam- 
paign of  1896,  speaking  here  and  there  in  behalf  of 
McKinley. 

His  candidate  was  victorious,  and  once  more  a 
Republican  Administration  was  to  have  control  of 
the  government.  Roosevelt  continued  doggedly  at 
his  desk,  cleansing  the  Augean  stables  of  political 
corruption  as  effectively  as  opposition  on  his  own 
board,  in  the  newspapers  of  his  own  city,  and  among 
the  leaders  of  his  own  political  party  in  the  state 
would  permit. 

Meanwhile,  a  few  people  came  to  love  him  for 
the  glorious  fight  that  was  in  him,  and  the  Force  came 
to  idolize  him  because  they  knew  he  was  ' '  square ' ' ; 
and  here,  there,  and  everywhere  over  the  country, 
civic  workers  gained  a  deeper  insight,  a  wider  vision, 
and  a  surer  courage  from  his  experience  and  his  per- 
sonality. 

Roosevelt  was  no  longer  merely  a  "reformer."  He 
was  becoming  a  national  inspiration. 


CHAPTER  XII 

HE    WALKS    THROUGH    THE    FIERY    FURNACE 

ROOSEVELT  had  publicly  preached  national 
preparedness  as  early  as  1882.  In  the  preface 
to  the  third  edition  of  his  Naval  War  of  1S12,  speak- 
ing of  the  land  operations  of  that  war,  he  had  written : 

They  teach  nothing  new;  it  is  the  old,  old  lesson,  that  a 
miserly  economy  in  preparation  may  in  the  end  involve  a  lavish 
outlay  of  men  and  money,  which,  after  all,  comes  too  late  to 
more  than  partially  offset  the  evils  produced  by  the  original 
short-sighted  parsimony.  .  .  .  It  was  criminal  folly  for  Jefferson, 
and  his  follower,  Madison,  to  neglect  to  give  us  a  force  either 
of  regulars  or  of  well-trained  volunteers  during  the  twelve 
years  they  had  in  which  to  prepare  for  the  struggle  that  any 
one  might  see  was  inevitable.  .  .  .  Circumstances  have  altered 
widely  since  181 2.  .  .  .  There  is  now  no  cause  for  our  keeping 
up  a  large  army;  while,  on  the  contrary,  the  necessity  for  an 
efficient  navy  is  so  evident  that  only  our  almost  incredible  short- 
sightedness prevents  our  at  once  preparing  one. 

If  the  need  for  an  efficient  navy  was  great  in 
1882,  it  was  far  more  vital  in  March,  1897,  when 
President  McKinley  was  inaugurated  and  the  Re- 
publican party  returned  to  power.  To  Roosevelt's 
keen  love  of  justice  and  hatred  of  oppression  Amer- 

181 


THEODORE    ROOSEVELT 

ica's  continued  indifference  to  Spanish  misrule  in 
Cuba  was  intolerable.  In  1895,  a  new  revolution 
had  broken  out  on  the  island.  General  Weyler  had 
been  sent  by  Spain  to  suppress  it,  but  in  spite  of  his 
most  cruel  and  oppressive  measures,  guerrilla  war- 
fare continued.  Between  the  barbarism  of  the  in- 
surgents, on  the  one  hand,  and  the  ruthless  severity 
of  the  Spaniards,  on  the  other,  the  Cuban  people, 
and  especially  the  women  and  children,  suffered 
agonies  of  privation  that  roused  the  whole  American 
people  to  protest.  Congress,  reflecting  the  nation's 
indignant  sympathy,  demanded  war,  but  President 
Cleveland  believed  that  Spain  might  yet  consent 
to  give  the  Cubans  self-rule,  and  again  and  again 
attempted  to  persuade  the  Spanish  government  to 
open  negotiations  with  the  insurgents.  The  answer 
was  invariably  the  same — the  honor  of  Spain  forbade 
treating  with  rebels.  At  last,  in  1897,  the  Liberals 
in  Spain  came  to  power,  recalled  Weyler,  and  offered 
the  Cubans  a  reasonable  amount  of  self-government. 
But  feeling  in  the  United  States  was  running  too 
high  against  Spain  to  be  assuaged  by  the  promise 
of  reforms  in  the  devastated  island,  for  such  prom- 
ises had  been  made  before,  and  broken.  The  Cubans, 
realizing  that  they  had  the  moral  support  of  the 
American  people,  refused  Spain's  concessions. 

Roosevelt  watched  the  course  of  events  with  keen 
interest.  He  believed  that  it  was  the  duty  of  the 
United  States  to  intervene  in  Cuba;  he  was  con- 
vinced that  no  act  short  of  intervention  would  give 
the  Cubans  freedom  from  the  intolerable  yoke  of 
tyranny.    For  twenty  years  Spain  had  been  holding 

182 


THE    FIERY    FURNACE 

out  vague  and  indefinite  promises  of  reform.  These 
promises  she  had  never  kept.  While  the  govern- 
ments of  the  United  States  and  Spain  were  exchang- 
ing notes,  meantime,  the  people  of  Cuba  were  perish- 
ing in  awful  numbers. 

In  season  and  out  of  season,  Roosevelt  insisted 
that  in  human  pity  Americans  must  drive  the  Span- 
iards out  of  Cuba. 

People  shrugged  their  shoulders  and  called  him  a 
militarist  and  a  firebrand. 

President  McKinley  was  inaugurated  in  March, 
1897.  Roosevelt  was  offered  a  post  in  the  new  Ad- 
ministration. He  chose  the  position  that  would  give 
him  the  best  opportunity  to  prepare  the  tools  in  that 
war  which  he  had  preached  America  must  in  duty 
wage.    He  became  Assistant  Secretary  of  the  Navy. 

He  began  at  once  to  do  what  he  could  to  make 
America's  fleet  ready  for  emergencies.  He  reorganized 
the  system  of  rank  and  promotion  among  naval  offi- 
cers, he  adjusted  the  differences  between  the  "line" 
and  the  "engineers" — a  quarrel  reaching  back  to 
the  days  of  sailing-ships;  he  asked  Congress  for 
$800,000  for  target  practice,  spent  it,  and — to  the 
horror  of  the  peace-at-any -price  folk — asked  for  half 
a  million  more. 

"The  shots  that  hit  are  the  shots  that  count!" 
he  pointed  out. 

The  situation  in  Cuba,  meanwhile,  was  growing 
constantly  more  acute.  There  was  little  actual  fight- 
ing between  the  Spanish  forces  and  the  Cubans,  but 
in  the  concentration  camps  the  women  and  children 
were  dying  by  the  thousands.    Expeditions,  financed 

183 


THEODORE    ROOSEVELT 

by  private  individuals,  were  sent  from  the  United 
States  to  feed  the  destitute.  This  aroused  the  anger 
of  the  Spaniards  in  Cuba,  who  turned  against  the 
American  residents.  General  Fitzhugh  Lee,  Amer- 
ican consul-general  in  Havana,  demanded  a  war- 
ship to  guard  American  lives  and  property. 

The  Maine  was  sent,  and  on  January  25,  1898, 
anchored  in  the  harbor  of  Havana. 

On  February  1 5th,  without  warning,  she  was  blown 
up  at  the  anchorage  the  Spanish  authorities  had 
assigned  to  her,  with  the  loss  of  two  officers  and  two 
hundred  and  fifty-eight  men. 

War  now  became  inevitable.  Roosevelt  began  to 
assemble  the  American  fleet,  recalling  war-ships  from 
foreign  ports  and  gathering  the  men-of-war  of  the 
Atlantic  squadron,  scattered  up  and  down  the  coast. 
Several  months  previous  he  had  succeeded  in  secur- 
ing the  appointment  of  Dewey  as  commander  of  the 
Asiatic  squadron,  against  the  advice  of  certain  officers 
in  Washington  who  thought  that  Dewey  was  a 
"dude."  He  now  succeeded,  again  in  opposition  to 
the  powers  that  be,  in  revoking  the  order  to  recall 
Dewey's  flagship  to  the  United  States. 

On  February  25,  1898,  he  sent  this  cable: 

Dewey,  Hong-Kong: 

Order  the  squadron,  except  the  Monocracy,  to  Hong-Kong. 
Keep  full  of  coal.  In  the  event  of  declaration  of  war  Spain, 
your  duty  will  be  to  see  that  the  Spanish  squadron  does  not 
leave  the  Asiatic  coast,  and  then  offensive  operations  in  Philip- 
pine Islands.     Keep  Olympic  until  further  orders. 

Roosevelt. 

On  April   21st  Spain  withdrew  her  minister  at 

J84  ; 


THE    FIERY    FURNACE 

Washington  and  gave  the  American  minister  at 
Madrid  his  passports. 

Spain  and  the  United  States  were  at  war. 

President  McKinley  called  for  volunteers.  Roose- 
velt had  already  made  up  his  mind  that,  if  war 
came,  he  would  take  an  active  part  in  it.  With  his 
friend  Leonard  Wood,  a  surgeon  in  the  army  and  a 
veteran  of  several  Indian  campaigns,  he  had  already 
discussed  the  possibility  of  raising  a  regiment  of 
mounted  riflemen  from  among  the  skilled  horsemen 
of  the  plains.  When  Congress,  therefore,  authorized 
three  regiments  of  cavalry,  he  immediately  offered 
to  raise  one  of  them.  General  Alger,  the  Secretary  of 
War,  accepted  the  offer,  and,  in  turn,  offered  Roose- 
velt the  colonelcy  of  the  regiment. 

Roosevelt  refused  it,  not  feeling  that  he  was  yet 
competent  to  handle  the  regiment.  Leonard  Wood 
was  made  colonel,  and  Roosevelt  accepted  the 
lieutenant-colonelcy . 

Roosevelt  resigned  from  the  Navy  Department 
amid  a  storm  of  protests.  The  President,  the  Sec- 
retary of  the  Navy,  and  the  newspapers  urged  him 
to  stay  where  he  was;  his  family  and  his  friends 
implored  him  not  to  risk  his  life  in  battle  when  there 
was  important  work  for  him  to  do  at  home,  and, 
when  he  would  not  listen  to  that  argument,  begged 
him  not  to  wreck  a  promising  political  career.  Even 
Bill  Sewall,  that  valiant  fighter,  counseled  discretion. 

I  thank  you  for  your  advice,  old  man  [Roosevelt  wrote  him 
on  April  23d,  the  day  war  was  declared],  but  it  seems  to  me 
that  if  I  can  go  I  better  had.  My  work  here  has  been  the 
work  of  preparing  the  tools.    They  are  prepared,  and  now  the 

185 


THEODORE    ROOSEVELT 

work  must  lie  with  those  who  use  them.  The  work  of  prepara- 
tion is  done;  the  work  of  using  the  tools  has  begun.  If  possible 
I  would  like  to  be  one  of  those  who  use  the  tools. 

He  went.  At  San  Antonio,  Texas,  he  assembled 
his  "Rough  Riders." 

I  couldn't  stay  [he  wrote  his  sister,  Mrs.  Douglas  Robinson, 
in  May].  That  was  the  sum  and  substance  of  it — although  I  re- 
alize well . . .  what  a  change  for  the  worse  it  means  in  my  after  life. 

For  a  month  the  First  Volunteer  Cavalry,  or  the 
Rough  Riders,  as  they  were  nicknamed,  trained  at 
San  Antonio,  while  Wood  and  Roosevelt  scoured  the 
country  for  supplies,  determined  that  no  lack  of 
equipment  should  prevent  the  regiment  from  being 
the  first  on  the  firing-line.  The  regiment  was  a 
motley  crew,  if  ever  there  was  one.  There  were 
cowboys  there,  and  "swells"  from  Fifth  Avenue; 
Western  "bad  men"  and  Eastern  college  boys; 
West-Pointers,  and  Indians,  and  mining-prospectors, 
and  gun-fighters,  and  bronco-busters,  and  town  mar- 
shals— everything  that  could  shoot  and  ride  and  had 
an  alert  mind  and  a  valiant  spirit;  a  thousand  of 
them  chosen  from  thousands  who  swarmed  to  offer 
themselves.  They  were  "children  of  the  dragon's 
blood,"  hardy  and  strong,  with  resolute,  weather- 
beaten  faces  and  clear,  unflinching  eyes. 

On  May  29th  the  regiment  entrained  for  Tampa. 
There  everything  was  chaos  and  confusion,  and  it 
was  only  by  the  exercise  of  ingenuity  and  "nerve" 
that  Roosevelt  and  Wood  were  able  to  fling  their 
troops  aboard  the  transport  assigned  to  them,  when 
the  orders  came  to  embark. 

186 


THE    FIERY    FURNACE 

A  week  or  more  later  they  were  at  anchor  off 
Daiquiri  on  the  southern  shore  of  Cuba.  Again,  as 
at  Tampa,  confusion  reigned.  The  orders  were  to 
land  the  horses  and  men.  The  details  were  cheerfully 
left  to  Providence. 

"We  disembarked,"  wrote  Roosevelt,  many  years 
later,  "higgledy-piggledy,  just  as  we  had  embarked." 

The  horses  and  mules  were  thrown  overboard,  and 
those  which  could  swim  swam  ashore;  those  which 
could  not  were  drowned.  It  was  very  simple.  The 
men  were  treated  with  only  a  little  more  care.  They 
were  crowded  into  the  ship's  boats  of  the  transports 
and  the  men-of-war.  Those  that  were  landed  at  the 
dock  at  Daiquiri  were  forced  to  clamber  over  slippery 
girders;  those  that  were  landed  through  the  surf 
were  generally  flung  into  it  and  forced  to  make  their 
way  ashore  as  best  they  could. 

Fortunately,  the  Spaniards  made  no  attempt  to 
contest  the  landing.  Five  hundred  resolute  men 
might  have  held  the  American  army  at  bay. 

That  night  the  Rough  Riders  camped  on  a  dusty, 
brush-covered  flat,  between  low  hills  a  quarter  of  a 
mile  inshore,  with  jungle  on  one  side,  and  on  the 
other  a  shallow,  fetid  pool  fringed  with  palm-trees. 
In  the  high  grass  the  troopers  pitched  their  dog- 
tents  or  built  green  bowers,  thatched  with  palm 
leaves.  It  was  all  very  romantic,  except  for  the 
huge  land-crabs  which  scuttled  noisily  hither  and 
thither  and  the  lizards  and  evil-looking  snakes  which 
wriggled  silently  in  and  out  of  the  underbrush. 

Roosevelt's  baggage  was  "somewhere  in  Cuba." 
His  sole  camp  equipment  was  a  mackintosh  and  a 

187 


THEODORE    ROOSEVELT 

toothbrush.  He  slept  that  night  under  a  clear  heaven 
of  stars.  Cuba  was  at  her  best,  enticing  and  irre- 
sistible in  her  tropic  beauty.  Except  for  the  land- 
crabs,  the  Rough  Riders  decided  that  war  was  cer- 
tainly one  grand  lark. 

At  noon  the  next  day  came  orders  from  Gen. 
Joseph  Wheeler,  who  was  in  command  in  the  absence 
of  General  Shafter,  that  the  Rough  Riders  were  to 
be  ready  to  break  camp  at  a  moment's  notice.  An 
hour  later  they  were  under  way  under  the  tropic 
sun,  marching  swiftly  west  through  jungle  country 
toward  Siboney.  General  Young,  who  commanded 
the  brigade  of  which  the  Rough  Riders  were  a  part, 
expected  to  come  in  contact  with  the  enemy  next 
morning,  and  Colonel  Wood  and  Lieutenant-Colonel 
Roosevelt  were  determined  that  their  regiment  was 
to  be  in  the  front  rank  when  the  firing  began. 

At  dawn  next  morning  came  the  order  to  advance. 
The  enemy  had  been  located  four  or  five  miles  north 
of  Siboney,  and  General  Wheeler  had  ordered  General 
Young  to  drive  him  from  his  position.  Two  trails 
led  through  the  jungle.  General  Young,  with  a 
squadron  each  from  the  First  and  the  Tenth  Regular 
Cavalry,  was  to  take  the  right-hand  path  through 
the  valley;  Colonel  Wood  with  the  Rough  Riders 
was  to  take  the  left-hand  trail  along  a  wooded  ridge. 
They  were  to  meet  where  the  trails  met  and  merged 
into  a  wagon-road  to  Santiago,  at  Las  Guasimas. 

Neither  Colonel  Wood  nor  Lieutenant  -  Colonel 
Roosevelt  had  slept.  "Wood  looked  worn  and  hag- 
gard," wrote  Edward  Marshall,  one  of  the  New 


THE    FIERY    FURNACE 

York  correspondents,  "and  his  voice  was  cracked 
and  hoarse.  Roosevelt  was  as  lively  as  a  chipmunk, 
and  seemed  to  be  in  half  a  dozen  places  at  once." 

The  Rough  Riders  climbed  the  difficult  ascent  to 
the  ridge  and  proceeded  swiftly  north  along  a  narrow 
trail  bordered  by  thickets  of  tropic  growth.  The 
forest  under  the  deep  blue  sky  was  wonderfully 
beautiful  and  brilliant  with  color.  Now  and  again 
they  heard  bird-notes. 

They  left  the  forest  behind  them.  To  the  right 
and  left  of  them  now  were  deserted  plantations,  over- 
grown in  the  space  of  a  few  years  into  a  jungle  that 
arched  the  road  twenty  feet  above  their  heads.  The 
trail  was  like  a  tunnel  with  green  walls.  The  heat 
was  oppressive  and  made  the  men  gasp. 

Suddenly  the  column  halted. 

Down  the  line  came  the  order,  "Silence  in  the 
ranks!" 

The  men  had  thrown  themselves  on  the  grass, 
chatting  and  chewing  the  grass-heads.  Roosevelt 
heard  two  of  them  discussing  in  low  murmurs  the 
conduct  of  a  certain  cow-puncher  in  quitting  work 
on  a  ranch  and  starting  a  saloon  in  some  New 
Mexican  town. 

"How  would  you  like  a  glass  of  cold  beer?"  he 
heard  another  call  in  a  low  voice. 

The  men  resented  this  and  tossed  bits  of  stick 
and  stone  at  him.  One  man  blew  a  putty-ball  in 
his  direction. 

The  Rough  Riders  had  been  told  that  they  would 
meet  the  Spaniards  before  the  day  was  done,  but 
they  did  not  really  believe  it.    They  had  never  seen 

189 


THEODORE    ROOSEVELT 

a  Spaniard  with  a  gun  in  his  hand.  They  strongly 
suspected  that  there  was  no  such  animal. 

The  war  was  just  a  lark. 

Roosevelt,  standing  near  a  barbed-wire  fence,  ut- 
tered a  sudden  exclamation.  "My  God!"  he  ex- 
claimed, holding  a  severed  strand  in  his  hand,  "this 
wire  has  been  cut  to-day." 

Marshall,  the  war  correspondent,  was  at  his  side. 
"What  makes  you  think  so?"  he  asked. 

"The  end  is  bright.  And  there  has  been  enough 
dew,  even  since  sunrise,  to  put  a  light  rust  on  it." 

A  surgeon  lumbered  up  the  line  on  a  mule  to  the 
accompaniment  of  remarks  from  both  the  mule  and 
the  surgeon  that  did  not  contribute  at  all  to  the 
efforts  Colonel  Wood  was  trying  to  make  to  preserve 
silence.  Roosevelt  jumped  after  them,  urging  them 
to  keep  quiet,  and  made  more  noise  doing  it  than 
the  original  transgressors. 

The  troopers  thought  it  all  extremely  funny. 

On  the  trail  ahead  a  shot  rang  out. 

Six  men  of  L  Troop,  who  had  been  sent  out  in 
advance  of  the  regiment,  had  come  into  touch  with 
the  enemy. 

There  was  another  shot,  then  a  volley,  and  then 
"everything  opened  up." 

"Load  chamber  and  magazine!" 

Colonel  Wood  sent  the  order  down  the  line.  He 
was  utterly  calm,  showing  no  signs  of  undue  excite- 
ment. Roosevelt,  on  the  other  hand,  was  not  calm 
at  all.  He  was  literally  jumping  up  and  down.  He 
had  been  in  perilous  places  before,  often  enough; 
but  he  had  never  been  under  fire.     He  looked  as 

190 


THE    FIERY    FURNACE 

though  half  of  him  wanted  to  run  and  half  of  him 
wanted  to  "lick  the  enemy"  single-handed.  There 
was  about  him  something  of  the  bouncing  fury  of 
those  savage  battles  with  Parker  at  Police  Head- 
quarters. 

Wood  ordered  him  to  deploy  Troops  A,  G,  and 
K  into  the  tangle  at  the  right.  Roosevelt  repeated 
the  order.  A  dozen  of  his  men  climbed  over  the 
barbed-wire  fence. 

Then  he,  too,  crossed  into  the  thicket.  And  sud- 
denly he  was  no  longer  excitable,  but  calm  and  cool, 
a  heroic  soldier,  an  inspiring  leader  of  men. 

The  country  was  confusing,  for  it  was  mountain- 
ous and  covered  with  thick  jungle.  The  first  troop 
which  Roosevelt  deployed  into  the  thicket  disap- 
peared immediately  as  though  the  earth  had  swal- 
lowed it.  He  kept  the  others  in  columns,  determined 
to  deploy  them  when  he  reached  the  firing-line. 
Meanwhile,  he  had  no  idea  where  the  firing-line  was. 
There  was  firing  to  the  right  and  firing  to  the  left. 
But  the  Spaniards  used  smokeless  powder,  and, 
though  the  bullets  rent  the  air  with  the  sound  of 
ripping  silk,  he  could  not  discover  whence  they 
came.  He  decided  that  he  could  not  go  far  wrong  if 
he  went  forward,  and  plunged  ahead  with  his  men. 

Suddenly,  one  of  the  troopers  crumpled  up  and 
lay  still.  Then  another,  and  then  a  third.  In  less 
than  three  minutes  nine  men  lay  helpless. 

The  Rough  Riders  had  discovered  that  there  were 
Spaniards  in  Cuba,  after  all. 

They  advanced  in  quick,  desperate  rushes,  rising 
out  of  the  high  grass,  racing  forward,  then  burrowing 

191 


THEODORE    ROOSEVELT 

deep  into  the  grass  again  and  firing  as  they  caught 
a  glimpse  of  a  comical  hat  in  the  underbrush  ahead. 
The  heat  was  fierce  in  its  intensity.  The  sun  blazed 
down  in  the  men's  eyes  like  a  lime-light.  To  right 
and  left  their  comrades  fell,  shot  down  by  an  in- 
visible enemy.  The  men  panted  for  breath,  beating 
their  way  with  their  carbines  through  the  tangle  of 
vines  and  creepers. 

Roosevelt  moved  among  them,  here,  there,  and 
everywhere,  exposing  himself,  not  recklessly,  but  with 
a  cool  disregard  of  danger  that  quieted  and  steadied 
his  men  as  no  words  could  possibly  have  steadied 
them.  Once,  while  he  was  leaning  against  a  palm- 
tree,  a  bullet  passed  through  the  trunk,  filling  his 
left  ear  and  eye  with  dust  and  splinters. 

Firing  and  rushing  forward,  sometimes  only  the 
distance  that  a  man  can  slide  to  a  base,  Roosevelt 
and  his  men  advanced  a  mile  and  a  half.  They  came 
at  last  to  the  brink  of  a  deep,  jungle-filled  valley. 

On  the  farther  side,  to  the  right,  a  troop  of  Amer- 
ican regulars  appeared.  On  the  left  was  lively  shoot- 
ing. Roosevelt  was  puzzled  to  know  what  to  do.  If 
he  pushed  ahead  he  might  leave  a  gap  for  the  Span- 
iards in  case  they  should  venture  a  counter-attack. 

He  left  his  men  where  they  were  and  started  out 
to  find  Colonel  Wood.  Major  Brodie,  in  command 
of  the  left  wing  of  the  regiment,  had  been  wounded, 
and  Wood  sent  Roosevelt  to  command  Brodie's 
battalion  in  addition  to  his  own.  From  his  new  posi- 
tion he  was  able  not  only  to  see  all  his  men,  but  the 
Spaniards  also.  They  were  shooting,  he  found,  from 
a  group  of  red-tiled  ranch  buildings  on  the  crest  of 

192 


THE    FIERY    FURNACE 

a  low  hill,  a  good  distance  ahead.  He  charged  for- 
ward with  his  men  in  stubborn,  short  rushes.  The 
Spaniards,  after  a  short  resistance,  fled.  He  took 
possession  of  the  buildings. 

"They  tried  to  catch  us  with  their  hands,"  pro- 
tested a  Spaniard,  later. 

Firing  had  now  ceased  everywhere  along  the  line. 
The  Spaniards  were  in  full  retreat  on  the  main  road 
north  in  the  direction  of  El  Caney.  Roosevelt  found 
Colonel  Wood  near  by  in  consultation  with  Generals 
Wheeler,  Chaffee,  and  Lawton,  and  had  difficulty  in 
refraining  from  a  grin  of  relief  when  they  solemnly 
congratulated  him  on  the  way  he  had  handled  his 
troops.  He  had  not  been  at  all  sure  that  he  might 
not  have  committed  some  awful  sin  for  which  he 
could  be  court-martialed. 

His  superiors  did  not  court-martial  him.  On  the 
contrary,  when,  a  few  days  after  the  Las  Guasimas 
fight,  General  Young  was  taken  ill  with  fever  and 
Colonel  Wood  was  given  command  of  the  brigade, 
they  made  Theodore  Roosevelt  colonel  of  the  Rough 
Riders. 

As  for  his  men — those  of  the  right  wing  had  had 
their  baptism  of  fire  under  him,  those  of  the  left 
wing  had  charged  with  him  to  victory.  All  of  them 
were  ready  now  to  follow  him  to  the  end  of  the  world. 

It  was  a  week  before  the  army  came  once  more 
into  contact  with  the  enemy.  It  had  meanwhile 
moved  northwestward  to  a  village  called  El  Poso, 
and  it  was  from  there  that  on  the  first  day  of  July 
the  advance  on  Santiago  was  made. 
13  iQ3 


THEODORE    ROOSEVELT 

The  intervening  days  had  been  trying,  for  a  deluge 
of  rain  came  regularly  every  afternoon  or  evening; 
food  was  scarce;  tobacco  was  lacking  altogether; 
sleep  was  made  difficult  by  rain  and  tarantulas; 
fever  began  to  lay  low  one  man  after  another;  and 
what  joy  remained  in  life  was  spoiled  by  Spanish 
sharpshooters  who  from  their  distant  eyries  in  the 
tops  of  the  trees  picked  off  men  as  they  exposed 
themselves  by  day  or  as  the  lightning  flashes  by 
night  shattered  the  security  of  the  darkness. 

The  Rough  Riders  had  respected  and  admired 
Theodore  Roosevelt  from  the  San  Antonio  days,  but 
it  was  only  after  the  Las  Guasimas  fight  that  they 
began  to  love  him.  During  the  fight  he  had  shared 
every  peril  with  his  men;  after  the  fight,  he  shared 
every  privation.  If  his  men  had  no  shelter,  he  had 
none;  if  his  men  had  no  food,  he  went  without  food 
likewise.  The  occasional  delicacies,  sent  up  from 
the  transports  to  the  officers'  mess,  he  sent  on  to  the 
wounded  and  the  sick.  He  knew  every  man  in  the 
regiment  by  his  first  name.  He  was  the  equal  and 
friend  of  all,  making  no  distinction  of  race  or  color 
or  creed  or  politics  or  social  standing.  It  was  like 
the  old  ranch  days.  He  was  human,  and  so  the 
men  loved  him;  he  was  capable  and  brave,  and  so 
they  respected  him;  he  bore  a  great  responsibility 
with  coolness  and  reserve,  and  so  they  were  glad  to 
recognize  him  as  "the  boss." 

On  the  afternoon  of  June  30th  the  Rough  Riders 
received  the  order  to  advance  toward  Santiago,  and 
at  eight  o'clock  that  night,  with  Colonel  Roosevelt 
at  their  head,  reached  El  Poso  hill  and  bivouacked 

194 


THE    FIERY    FURNACE 

on  its  slopes.  General  Wood,  now  in  command  of 
the  brigade,  was  already  there.  That  night  the  two 
friends  slept  side  by  side  under  a  starry  sky. 

They  were  up  and  about  before  dawn,  talking 
little,  but  making  ready  for  the  fight  they  knew  was 
ahead.  The  troopers  were  quiet  with  suppressed 
excitement.  They  had  learned  that  war  was  no  lark 
at  all;  and  they  polished  up  their  rifles,  wondering 
who  would  be  missing  when  night  fell. 

At  nine  o'clock  came  the  order  to  advance.  General 
Lawton's  division  had  been  ordered  to  take  El  Caney, 
General  Sumner's  division,  including  the  Rough 
Riders,  had  been  directed  to  move  toward  the  San 
Juan  hills,  connect  with  General  Lawton's  division 
after  the  capture  of  El  Caney,  and  the  following 
morning  capture  the  trenches  on  the  San  Juan  ridge. 
The  road  along  which  the  Rough  Riders  advanced 
was  scarcely  more  than  a  muddy  trail,  overcrowded 
now  with  thousands  of  men  stepping  on  one  an- 
other's heels.  Within  an  hour  they  came  within  the 
enemy's  zone  of  fire. 

The  Spaniards  knew  that  road.  Their  guns  had 
the  range  of  every  inch  of  it,  and  with  merciless 
accuracy  they  poured  their  fire  into  the  advancing 
lines.  Men  began  to  fall,  right  and  left.  At  a  ford 
of  the  San  Juan  River,  over  the  heads  of  the  huddled 
troops,  the  commanding  general  sent  up  an  observa- 
tion balloon.  It  made  a  perfect  target  for  the 
enemy.  Shells  began  to  break  about  it,  scattering 
death  among  the  soldiers  below.  Volley  on  volley 
from  the  Spanish  trenches  raked  the  tall  grass 
behind, 

J95 


THEODORE    ROOSEVELT 

Roosevelt,  mounted  on  his  pony,  Texas,  moved 
his  men  swiftly  to  the  right  along  the  farther  side  of 
the  creek,  out  of  the  worst  of  the  murderous  fire. 
The  Rough  Riders  were  a  part  of  the  Second  Brigade. 
The  First  Brigade  had  been  directed  to  move  to 
the  right;  then  face  the  front.  The  Second  Brigade 
had  been  ordered  to  pass  in  the  rear  until  clear  of 
the  First  Brigade,  and  then  likewise  face  the  front. 
The  original  plan  had  been  that  these  two  brigades 
should  wait  at  the  ford,  and  on  receipt  of  definite 
orders  proceed  along  the  river  and  connect  with 
General  Lawton's  forces  after  the  capture  of  El 
Caney. 

Under  the  lee  of  the  river-bank  Roosevelt  halted 
his  men  while  the  First  Brigade  disentangled  itself 
sufficiently  to  spread  out  to  the  right  according  to 
the  original  plan.  His  men  stood  waist-deep  in 
water  or  crouched  in  the  burning  jungle  grass.  The 
heat  was  intense.  They  lay  with  rolling  eyes,  gasp- 
ing for  breath.  Round  about  the  shells  still  broke 
and  the  whistling  Mauser  bullets  found  their  marks. 
Sharpshooters  in  the  tops  of  trees  picked  off  the  troop- 
ers like  sparrows  from  a  fence. 

Overhead,  the  fatal  gas-bag  still  hung,  drawing 
the  Spanish  fire.  And  under  it,  in  that  chute  of 
death,  seven  thousand  American  soldiers,  jammed 
into  a  narrow  opening,  waited  where  they  had  been 
told  to  wait  for  orders  that  did  not  come. 

The  First  Brigade  formed  at  last  in  its  new  posi- 
tion and  the  Second  Brigade,  with  General  Wood  in 
command,  proceeded  to  the  right  to  a  patch  of 
woods.    There  Roosevelt  sheltered  his  men  as  well 

196 


THE    FIERY    FURNACE 

as  he  could,  but  the  Mauser  bullets  drove  in  sheets 
through  the  trees  and  the  tall  jungle  grass,  and  on 
every  side  men  crumpled  up  and  lay  still.  He  walked 
or  rode  among  his  men,  a  clear  target;  but  he  was 
not  hit,  though  again  and  again  men  fell  beside  him ; 
and  once,  as  he  was  sitting  on  a  low  bank,  a  trooper 
whom  he  was  sending  down  the  line  for  orders 
pitched  suddenly  forward,  dead,  across  his  knees.  A 
fragment  of  a  shell  had  struck  his  wrist  that  morning 
at  El  Poso,  raising  a  bump  the  size  of  a  hickory-nut. 
But  beyond  that  he  received  no  wound. 

Another  division,  under  General  Kent,  which  was 
to  have  been  held  in  reserve,  now  appeared,  com- 
pletely blocking  the  trail.  Retreat  was  consequently 
out  of  the  question.  To  remain  in  that  death-trap, 
on  the  other  hand,  or  to  follow  out  the  original  plan, 
marching  under  the  very  guns  of  San  Juan  block- 
house, meant  annihilation. 

"There  was  no  escape,"  said  Richard  Harding 
Davis,  afterward,  "except  by  taking  the  enemy  by 
the  throat  and  driving  him  out  and  beating  him 
down." 

Roosevelt  sent  one  messenger  after  another  to 
find  General  Wood  or  General  Sumner,  who,  in  turn, 
it  later  appeared,  were  sending  couriers  madly  down 
the  line  to  where,  three  miles  in  the  rear,  General 
Shatter  was  nursing  a  gouty  foot.  One  of  Roose- 
velt's messengers  was  killed,  another  was  wounded, 
a  third  became  hopelessly  entangled  in  the  mass 
of  men  blocking  the  muddy  road;  none  of  them 
returned  with  the  anxiously  awaited  orders  to 
advance. 

197 


THEODORE    ROOSEVELT 

Roosevelt  decided  that,  in  the  absence  of  orders, 
the  safest  move  in  the  face  of  that  slaughtering  fire 
was  to  "march  toward  the  guns." 

Suddenly  word  came  from  General  Sumner  that 
the  Rough  Riders  were  to  support  the  Regulars  in 
the  assault  on  the  hills,  and  that  the  immediate 
objective  of  the  Rough  Riders  was  a  red- tiled  ranch- 
house  situated  on  an  elevation  which  was  later  to  be 
known  as  Kettle  Hill. 

Roosevelt  leaped  to  the  advance.  He  had  not 
enjoyed  the  Las  Guasimas  fight  at  all,  for  he  had  at 
no  time  known  definitely  what  he  was  supposed  to 
do.  But  this  was  different.  Here  in  the  woods  lay 
his  regiment;  there,  across  an  open  basin,  was  a 
red- tiled  house  on  a  hill,  with  a  trench  running  along 
the  front  of  it.    The  problem  was  perfectly  simple. 

He  turned  to  his  men.  "We'll  have  to  take  that 
hill,"  he  shouted. 

"We'll  have  to  take  that  hill,"  they  shouted  back; 
and  down  the  line  the  exultant  message  ran,  "We'll 
have  to  take  that  hill!" 

Roosevelt  leaped  on  his  horse.  His  face  was 
streaked  with  dirt  and  streaming  with  perspiration. 
His  shirt  was  soaked  with  sweat,  his  trousers  and 
boots  and  cavalry  leggings  were  caked  with  Cuban 
mud.  From  the  back  of  his  soiled  campaign  hat  a 
blue  bandana  handkerchief  with  white  dots  hung  to 
shield  his  neck  from  the  sun.  That  day  it  was  the 
battle-flag  of  the  Rough  Riders. 

Roosevelt's  orders  were  to  "support  the  Regulars," 
but  when,  at  the  head  of  his  regiment,  he  came  up 
with  the  Ninth  Regular  Cavalry,  a  colored  regiment, 

198 


THE    FIERY    FURNACE 

he  found  them  still  firing  across  the  valley  at  the 
distant  intrenchments. 

"Why  don't  you  charge?"  he  demanded  of  one  of 
the  officers,  who  happened  to  be  his  inferior  in  rank. 

"We  have  no  orders,"  was  the  reply. 

"Then  I  give  you  the  order!"  cried  Roosevelt. 

The  elderly  officer  in  command  hesitated. 

"Then  let  my  men  through,  sir!"  Roosevelt  com- 
manded. 

The  lines  of  the  Ninth  Cavalry  parted  as  Roosevelt, 
swinging  his  hat,  charged  through;  and  closed  again 
as  the  colored  troops  with  a  cheer  rose  and  swung 
into  the  charge. 

Through  the  tall  grass  of  the  basin  Roosevelt  led 
his  men,  wheeling  his  horse  now  to  this  flank  and 
now  to  that  as  he  kept  true  the  wide  line  of  scattered 
men.  He  waved  his  sword,  urging  them  on,  the  most 
conspicuous  figure  on  the  battle-field,  the  inspiration 
not  only  of  his  own  men  but  of  the  Regulars  now 
breaking  cover  on  all  sides. 

Forty  yards  from  the  top  of  the  hill  was  a  wire 
fence  that  for  a  minute  held  up  the  charge.  Roose- 
velt flung  himself  off  his  horse  and  over  the  fence 
and  plunged  forward  on  foot. 

It  was  a  glorious  spin  [wrote  his  former  ranch  partner,  Bob 
Ferguson,  now  a  Rough  Rider,  to  Mrs.  Roosevelt]  over  trenches 
and  barbed  wires  instead  of  oaken  panels — one  never  expects  to 
see  the  like  again — his  courage  was  so  simple  and  so  true  to  him. 

Another  minute  and  the  crest  was  swarming  with 
the  Rough  Riders  and  the  colored  troopers  of  the 
Ninth.    The  Spaniards  had  fled  from  their  trenches 

199 


THEODORE    ROOSEVELT 

to  a  second  line  of  defense  and  now  opened  fire  with 
rifles  and  one  or  two  pieces  of  artillery.  The  shells 
broke  directly  overhead. 

T.  moved  about  in  the  midst  of  shrapnel  explosions  [Ferguson 
wrote],  like  Shadrach,  Meshach  &  Co.  in  the  midst  of  the  fiery 
furnace — unharmed  by  the  fire.  Every  part  of  the  air  was 
strung  by  the  vicious  Mauser  bullets  or  by  the  buzzing  ex- 
ploding bullets  of  the  Irregulars — save  just  under  the  lee  of  the 
crest  where  the  thin  line  lay  (and  even  there  bullets  from  a  cross- 
fire kept  drop -dropping  and  cutting  men  down  as  they  lay). 
Theodore  preferred  to  stand  up  or  walk  about,  snuffing  the 
fragrant  air  of  combat.  I  really  believe  firmly  now  that  they 
can't  kill  him. 

Frankly  [Roosevelt  himself  wrote  home],  it  did  not  enter  my 
head  that  I  could  get  through  without  being  hit,  but  I  judged 
that,  even  if  hit,  the  chances  would  be  about  three  to  one  against 
my  being  killed. 

He  had  now  accomplished  the  task  he  had  been 
ordered  to  accomplish.  He  had  captured  the  red- 
tiled  ranch-house.  But  the  battle  was  by  no  means 
over.  To  the  left,  General  Kent's  division  was  storm- 
ing the  San  Juan  blockhouse,  and  he  ordered  the 
troops  on  the  crest  to  turn  their  fire  on  the  troops 
defending  it.  At  last  the  Spaniards  leaped  from  the 
trenches.  The  blockhouse  was  in  the  hands  of  the 
Americans.  Roosevelt  turned  to  General  Sumner 
for  permission  to  charge  on  to  the  next  line  of  hills, 
where  the  troops  who  had  held  Kettle  Hill  were 
now  intrenched. 

"Go  ahead!"  said  Sumner. 

There  was  a  barbed-wire  fence  along  the  crest. 
Roosevelt  jumped  it,  shouting  to  his  men  to  follow, 

200 


THE    FIERY    FURNACE 

and  started  forward  on  the  double-quick.  He  had 
gone  a  hundred  yards  before  he  was  aware  that  only 
five  men  were  with  him.  One  of  these  fell,  then 
another.  He  shouted  to  the  remaining  three  to  stay 
where  they  were,  and  ran  back  to  where  the  rest  of 
the  regiment  was  waiting  in  the  high  grass.  He 
taunted  them  bitterly. 

The  Rough  Riders  looked  grieved.  "We  didn't 
hear  you,  we  didn't  see  you  go,  Colonel,"  one  of 
them  protested.  "Lead  on  now.  We'll  sure  follow 
you." 

And  they  did.  The  other  regiments  on  the  crest 
leaped  forward  with  them,  and  they  charged  across 
the  wide  valley  while  the  Spanish  bullets  ripped  the 
grass  round  about.  At  full  speed  they  plunged  up 
the  farther  hill.  The  Spaniards  began  to  break  cover 
and  run.  Two  of  them,  leaping  from  the  trenches, 
fired  point-blank  at  Roosevelt  and  his  orderly. 
Roosevelt  killed  one  with  his  revolver  at  less  than 
ten  paces. 

The  Rough  Riders  plunged  on,  over  this  crest,  to 
another  line  of  hills,  overlooking  Santiago.  There 
they  were  ordered  to  halt.  The  Spanish  fire  was 
severe,  and  shelter  was  scant,  but  for  Roosevelt  and 
his  men  there  was  no  retreating.  Late  in  the  after- 
noon they  beat  off  a  counter-attack,  with  cheers. 
By  the  next  day  the  battle  had  settled  down  into  a 
siege. 

"Theodore  has  sure  made  his  mark  on  the  Span- 
iard," wrote  Ferguson. 

He  had  also  made  his  mark  on  his  own  country- 
men.   A  day  after  the  battle  Edward  F.  Bourke,  late 


THEODORE    ROOSEVELT 

of  the  New  York  police  force  and  for  the  moment  gun 
captain  on  the  U.  S.  S.  Hist,  off  Guantanamo,  saw  a 
man  in  khaki  passing  in  a  launch,  and  called  out: 
"How's  Colonel  Roosevelt  getting  on?" 

"Colonel  Roosevelt?"  cried  the  man  in  khaki. 
"He  bears  what  you  call  a  charmed  life.  Wherever 
the  bullets  are  flying  thickest  you'll  find  him.  He's 
the  greatest  thing  you  ever  heard  of!" 

The  news  of  Roosevelt's  charge  over  crest  on  crest 
of  the  San  Juan  hills  was  the  kind  of  news  Americans 
like  to  hear.  From  one  end  of  the  country  to  the 
other  the  splendid  story  was  told.  Overnight,  Roose- 
velt became  a  popular  hero. 

Meanwhile,  though  the  active  fighting  was  over 
for  the  time  being,  there  was  little  rest  for  the  colonel 
of  the  Rough  Riders,  for  the  malarial  fever  was  strik- 
ing his  troopers  down  right  and  left,  and  here  and 
there  a  more  .sinister  foe  than  Spain  was  touching 
his  men  with  deathly  fingers. 

There  was  no  fighting  malaria  and  yellow  fever  in 
that  pestilential  place,  so  Roosevelt  did  what  he  could 
to  give  the  sick  some  measure  of  care  and  comfort 
there  where  doctors  and  nurses  were  few;  and  en- 
deavored, in  company  with  General  Shafter  and  other 
division  and  brigade  commanders,  to  persuade  the 
War  Department  to  send  the  army  north  for  a 
brief  period  of  bracing  air  in  preparation  for  the 
campaign  against  Havana  in  the  fall.  Santiago  had 
surrendered.  Cervera's  fleet  was  destroyed.  To 
keep  the  army  in  Cuba  would  be  needlessly  to  sacri- 
fice American  lives. 

202 


THE    FIERY    FURNACE 

General  Shafter  asked  Roosevelt,  as  the  only 
brigade  commander  who  intended  to  return  to  civil 
life  and  therefore  had  no  reason  to  fear  offending 
the  War  Department,  to  write  a  letter  stating  con- 
ditions in  Cuba.  Roosevelt  wrote  the  letter  and 
joined  in  writing  another  letter,  a  so-called  "  round- 
robin  "  signed  by  all  the  division  and  brigade  com- 
manders. •  General  Shafter  gave  both  documents  to 
the  Associated  Press  correspondent. 

In  the  storm  that  ensued  Roosevelt  was  praised 
for  his  courage  and  bitterly  censured  for  what  was 
called  his  insubordination.  But  neither  the  praise 
nor  the  blame  mattered  very  much  to  him.  The 
important  point  was  that  the  army  was  ordered 
north. 

Meanwhile,  his  fame  had  set  the  politicians  of 
New  York  State  to  thinking.  The  Republican  party 
there  had  fallen  on  evil  days.  There  was  a  Governor 
to  be  elected  in  November.  Roosevelt  heard  rumors 
in  Cuba  that  his  brief  career  as  a  soldier  might,  after 
all,  not  mean  so  serious  "a  change  for  the  worse" 
in  his  after-life  as  he  had  believed.  He  did  not  take 
these  rumors  very  seriously. 

As  for  the  political  effect  of  my  actions  [he  wrote  to  his 
brother-in-law],  in  the  first  place,  I  never  can  get  on  in  politics, 
and  in  the  second,  I  would  rather  have  led  that  charge  and 
earned  my  colonelcy  than  served  three  terms  in  the  United 
States  Senate.  It  makes  me  feel  as  though  I  could  now  leave 
something  to  my  children  which  will  serve  as  an  apology  for 
my  having  existed. 

The  political  rumors  persisted.  Piatt,  Republi- 
can "Boss"  of  New  York  State,  did  not  love  Theo- 

203 


THEODORE    ROOSEVELT 

dore  Roosevelt.  He  had,  in  the  police  days,  en- 
deavored more  than  once'  to  side-track  him.  But 
he  was  in  a  corner.  The  people  of  the  state  had, 
under  the  eyes  of  a  Republican  Governor,  been 
robbed  of  millions  of  dollars  in  the  building  of  canals 
and  other  public  works.  A  Democratic  victory  was 
certain  unless  the  Republicans  nominated  a  man 
whom  the  people  could  really  trust. 

Theodore  Roosevelt,  passing  through  New  York 
City  on  his  way  to  the  camp  of  the  Rough  Riders 
at  Montauk  Point,  was  greeted  with  the  wildest 
enthusiasm. 

"There,"  said  the  politicians,  "is  the  only  man 
alive  who  can  carry  the  Republican  party  to  victory 
in  November." 

Piatt  made  a  wry  face.  But  sentiment  in  favor  of 
Roosevelt's  nomination  began  to  grow  up-state.  A 
group  of  representative  citizens  distrustful  of  both 
parties  traveled  down  to  Montauk  Point  to  offer 
Roosevelt  an  Independent  nomination.  But  Roose- 
velt, who  had  no  sympathy  with  the  crooked  ways 
of  political  organizations,  knew  that,  rightly  directed, 
they  were  forces  far  more  powerful  for  good  govern- 
ment than  any  loose  group  of  Independents  could 
ever  be.  When  Lemuel  Quigg,  one  of  the  Republican 
leaders,  came  to  his  tent,  therefore,  asking  him  what 
his  attitude  would  be  toward  the  organization  in 
case  the  organization  nominated  him,  his  reply  was 
direct  and  unmistakable: 

"If  I  am  nominated  and  elected  I  shall  certainly 
confer  with  the  organization  men  as  with  everybody 
else  who  seems  to  me  to  have  knowledge  of  and  in- 

204 


THE    FIERY    FURNACE 

terest  in  public  affairs.  I  shall  try  to  get  on  well 
with  the  organization.  But  the  organization  must, 
on  the  other  hand,  with  equal  sincerity,  strive  to  do 
what  I  regard  as  essential  for  the  public  good.  In 
every  case,  after  full  consideration  of  whatever  any 
one  has  to  say  who  may  possess  real  knowledge  of 
the  matter  under  consideration,  I  shall  have  to  act 
finally  as  my  own  judgment  and  conscience  dictate." 

"That  is  exactly  what  I  supposed  you  would 
say,"  answered  Quigg.  "It  is  all  that  anybody  can 
expect." 

Two  weeks  after  the  Rough  Riders  were  disbanded 
at  Montauk  Point  Theodore  Roosevelt  was  nomi- 
nated by  the  Republicans  for  Governor  of  New  York. 

The  campaign  began  coldly.  The  Independents 
had  been  shocked  that  Roosevelt  should  have  "put 
his  neck  in  Piatt's  collar,"  and  now  did  what  they 
could  to  throw  a  damper  on  his  candidacy. 

Roosevelt  saw  defeat  ahead.  But  there  was  still 
a  month  before  election.  He  made  up  his  mind 
that  he  would  not  go  down  without  a  struggle. 

Odell  was  managing  the  campaign.  Roosevelt 
went  to  him  and  said  he  would  like  to  make  a  cam- 
paign tour  through  the  state.  Odell  did  not  like  the 
idea.  Candidates  who  made  too  many  speeches  had 
a  way  of  saying  things  that  some  people  were  bound 
to  object  to.  But  appeals  from  the  rural  counties 
showed  him  clearly  that  apathy  was  general  and 
that  the  campaign  was  lost  unless  Roosevelt  could 
personally  turn  defeat  into  victory. 

Roosevelt  "stumped"  the  state.  He  "stumped" 
it  up  and  down  and  zigzag  and  across,   making 

205 


THEODORE    ROOSEVELT 

speeches  at  every  railroad  station.  The  campaign 
began  to  show  signs  of  life.  Roosevelt,  as  usual,  car- 
ried the  war  into  the  enemy's  territory,  disregarding 
the  Democratic  nominee,  who  was  insignificant,  and 
concentrating  his  fire  on  the  Democratic  boss,  Rich- 
ard Croker.  Croker  was  not  a  man  to  crawl  into  a 
corner  under  fire.  He  answered  with  hot  shot. 
Roosevelt  immediately  grasped  the  opportunity  to 
make  clear  to  the  voters  that  the  issue  lay  not  be- 
tween himself  and  the  Democratic  nominee,  but 
between  himself  and  Tammany's  notorious  and  un- 
scrupulous chief. 

His  sincerity  and  fire  kindled  his  audiences;  and 
the  gay  ardor  of  the  Rough  Riders  who  accompanied 
him  took  their  fancy.  The  campaign  which  began 
in  gloom  ended  in  enthusiasm. 

The  election  was  close.  At  ten  o'clock  in  the  eve- 
ning, Roosevelt,  who  had  received  the  returns  at 
Sagamore  Hill,  went  to  bed,  believing  himself  de- 
feated. At  two  o'clock  he  was  routed  by  a  band  of 
happy  enthusiasts,  and,  in  a  suit  of  scarlet  pajamas, 
received  the  announcement  of  his  election  as  Gover- 
nor of  New  York. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

HE    GOVERNS    A    GREAT    STATE    JUSTLY    IN    SPITE     OF 
THE    "INTERESTS" 

ROOSEVELT  had  hitherto  been  known  prmci- 
»  pally  as  a  powerful  agitator  of  the  public  mind, 
an  inspiration  to  patriotic  effort,  a  trumpet  to  the 
slumbering,  the  lethargic,  the  apathetic,  a  man  with 
a  genius  for  advertising  good  causes.  He  had  proved 
his  qualities  as  an  executive,  as  president  of  the 
Police  Board ;  he  had  proved  himself  a  leader  of  men 
on  the  hot  hillsides  and  in  the  steaming  fever-camps 
of  Cuba.  He  had  not  been  a  week  in  office  before 
men  began  to  realize  that  he  was  also  a  notable 
administrator. 

There  were  grave  issues  facing  him  and  the  people 
of  the  state.  The  people  knew  Theodore  Roosevelt. 
They  had  watched  him  grow  up,  and  they  believed 
in  him.  But  they  also  knew  Thomas  C.  Piatt.  They 
had  known  him  twice  as  long  as  they  had  known 
Roosevelt.  They  had  known  him  as  the  "Easy 
Boss"  who  for  years  had  held  the  Republican  "ma- 
chine" in  the  hollow  of  his  hand  and  who  had  never 
failed  to  use  it  as  the  "interests"  directed.  They 
knew  that  no  Republican  had  ever  "bucked"  Piatt 
successfully. 

207 


THEODORE    ROOSEVELT 

They  liked  Roosevelt.  They  knew  he  was  coura- 
geous and  they  believed  he  was  "square." 

But  Senator  Piatt  was  "boss"  of  the  Republican 
party  and  Roosevelt  had  accepted  his  nomination 
from  the  hands  of  Piatt  and  conferred  with  him 
during  the  campaign  with  a  frank  openness  which 
seemed  to  support  his  opponents  in  their  conten- 
tion that  he  would  be  merely  another  "shadow 
Governor." 

For  weeks  one  question  above  all  others  agitated 
the  columns  of  the  newspapers — Would  Piatt  swallow 
Roosevelt  or  would  Roosevelt  swallow  Piatt? 

The  men  who  constituted  the  "machine"  had  their 
own  ideas  on  the  subject.  Among  themselves  they 
said  that  they  had  Roosevelt  "hog-tied."  They 
knew  that  the  Legislature  in  both  branches  and  the 
state  department  heads  with  one  or  two  exceptions 
were  controlled  absolutely  by  Piatt  and  did  his  bid- 
ding without  question.  They  themselves  were  pow- 
erful and  unscrupulous  men.  They  "figured"  that 
although  they  would  have  difficulty  with  the 
Governor,  they  would  wear  out  his  resistance  in 
the  end. 

Roosevelt  himself  made  no  statement  on  the  mat- 
ter. He  had  told  Quigg  that  he  would  consult  mem- 
bers of  the  Republican  state  organization  about 
legislation  and  appointments,  reserving  to  himself 
the  final  decision.  The  "machine"  had  agreed  to 
this  arrangement,  but  he  had  not  yet  been  inaugu- 
rated before  there  was  a  clash. 

"I  am  glad  to  say,"  remarked  Senator  Piatt, 
cheerfully,  one  morning  a  month  or  so  after  election, 

208 


HE   GOVERNS   A   GREAT   STATE 


"that  you  are  going  to  have  a  most  admirable  man 
for  Superintendent  of  Public  Works." 

"What's  that?"  ejaculated  Roosevelt. 

Piatt  handed  him  a  telegram.    ' '  He  has  accepted, ' ' 
he  said. 

Roosevelt  knew  the  man  and  liked  him.  But  the 
main  business  of  the  Superintendent  of  Public  Works 
would  be  to  investigate  the  frauds  connected  with 
the  deepening  of  the  Erie  Canal,  and  this  man  came 
from  a  city  along  the  line  of  the  canal.  Besides, 
thought  Roosevelt,  he  would 
have  to  make  clear  sooner  or 
later  that  he  was  the  Gov- 
ernor-elect, and  not  Piatt ;  and 
the  sooner  the  better. 

"I  am  sorry,"  he  said,  quiet- 
ly, "but  I  can't  appoint  that 
man." 

There  was  an  explosion. 

Roosevelt  made  his  own  ap- 
pointment; but  he  did  not 
"crow"  over  the  aged  Sena- 
tor. On  the  contrary,  he  allowed  Piatt  to  publish 
the  appointment  as  his  own,  glad  to  let  the  old  gen- 
tleman save  his  dignity  and  to  allow  the  impression 
to  go  out  that  all  was  harmony  between  him  and  the 
"Boss,"  for,  though  this  picture  of  harmony  worried 
the  fireside  moralists,  those  Independents  "whose  in- 
dependence," Roosevelt  explained,  "consisted  in  one 
part  moral  obliquity  and  two  parts  of  mental  in- 
firmity," it  made  for  results.  Gradually,  and  before 
Piatt  and  the  "machine"  themselves  knew  exactly 
14  «      209 


Roosevelt:  "Hands  of ' 

Tommy!     I'll  do  the 

driving!" 

(From  the  New  York  Herald) 


THEODORE   ROOSEVELT 

what  was  happening,  business  methods  began  to  sup- 
plant favoritism  and  political  intrigue  in  the  govern- 
ment of  the  state. 

From  the  very  beginning  Roosevelt  insisted  on  a 
"policy  of  light"  in  the  State  House.  There  were 
no  "back  entrances"  to  his  private  office,  and  regu- 
larly twice  a  day  the  correspondents  of  the  press 
were  invited  to  hear  what  the  Governor  was  doing, 
what  he  had  done,  and  what  he  was  planning  to  do. 

Cynics  remarked, "There  is  Theodore  getting  into 
the  lime-light  again."  But  Roosevelt  knew  that  if  he 
were  to  accomplish  anything  at  all  as  Governor  he 
must  have  the  people  at  his  back,  seeing  clearly 
whither  he  was  leading  them.  In  the  Governorship, 
as  in  every  other  public  office  he  had  held,  he  made 
the  people  he  was  serving  his  most  powerful  ally. 

He  fully  needed  their  support.  Against  the  meas- 
ures he  considered  just  were  ranged  the  hundreds  of 
big  and  little  leaders  who  constituted  the  "machine," 
and,  behind  them,  the  huge,  silent  forces  of  wealth 
that  constituted  the  "interests." 

The  history  of  Roosevelt's  administration  as  Gov- 
ernor is  largely  the  history  of  an  unceasing  struggle 
to  govern  honestly  and  justly  in  spite  of  the  desire  of 
the  men  who  controlled  the  party  which  had  elected 
him  that  he  govern  dishonestly  and  unjustly.  That 
struggle  was  in  no  way  a  simple  one.  He  could  re- 
pudiate Piatt  and  his  confederates  once  and  for  all 
and  win  a  certain  amount  of  popular  applause  by  so 
doing;  or  he  could  accept  Piatt's  dictation  and  secure 
the  powerful  support  of  the  "machine"  in  his  future 
career.     If  he  did  the  first,  he  knew  that  he  would 

2IO 


HE    GOVERNS    A    GREAT    STATE 

be  rendered  utterly  powerless  to  pass  any  legislation 
whatsoever,  or,  in  fact,  to  achieve  any  results  in  any 
direction;  if  he  did  the  second,  he  knew  that  he 
would  lose  something  more  precious  than  political 
honors — namely,  his  self-respect.  He  chose  neither 
to  repudiate  Piatt  nor  to  accept  him  as  his  "boss," 
but  to  co-operate  with  him  where  co-operation  was 
possible,  and  to  fight  him  only  on  fundamental 
issues  of  right  and  wrong. 

He  determined  that  he  would  strive  for  the  best, 
but  if  he  could  not  get  it,  he  would  fight  to  get  the 
best  possible. 

So  it  happened  that  the  Governor  and  the  Repub- 
lican "boss"  breakfasted  together  in  Manhattan 
whenever  the  political  waters  grew  troubled,  and 
exchanged  friendly  expressions  of  mutual  regard. 
The  Governor  ' '  had  a  way  with  him ' '  that  did  won- 
ders. He  allowed  Piatt  to  propose  men  for  positions, 
and  if  the  men  were  honest  and  able  he  accepted 
them.  If  they  were  neither  honest  nor  able,  he  asked 
Piatt  to  suggest  other  names,  incidentally  suggesting 
one  or  two  possibilities  himself.  It  was  all  very 
amicable  and  friendly.  In  matters  of  legislation, 
Roosevelt,  knowing  that  Piatt's  control  of  the  Legis- 
lature was  complete,  won  him  over  to  important  re- 
forms by  tact  and  cajolery. 

The  politicians  looked  on,  incredulous,  wondering 
how  long  this  curious  alliance  would  last.  Those  who 
did  not  know  Roosevelt  personally  believed  him  to 
be  quarrelsome,  egoistic,  headstrong,  self-sufficient, 
and  unthinking.  They  did  not  know  that  there 
were  two  sides  to  this  man,  the  one  slow,  reflective, 

211 


THEODORE    ROOSEVELT 

open-minded,  eager  for  counsel;  the  other  quick, 
reckless,  and  set.  The  man  they  saw  was  the  man 
of  action ;  and  never  dreamed  that  there  was  in  him 
another  man  who  sought  advice  and  deliberated  and 
sought  advice  and  deliberated  again  before  he  let 
the  fighter  in  him  loose  at  his  enemies. 

So  it  happened  that  Piatt,  the  political  leader  of 
the  "interests,"  was  persuaded  to  give  what  Roose- 
velt later  called  "a  grudging  and  querulous  assent" 
to  the  re-enactment  of  a  civil-service  law  and  the 
passage  of  a  mass  of  labor  legislation  which  Piatt, 
in  opposition,  would  never  have  dreamed  of  coun- 
tenancing. Much  of  this  legislation  was  based  on 
investigations  which  Roosevelt  had  personally  made 
with  Riis  in  the  Police  Board  days,  and  further  in- 
vestigations which  they  now  made  together  in  the 
congested  districts  of  the  East  Side.  Some  of  the 
legislation  he  demanded  was  accepted  by  the  "ma- 
chine" and  passed;  some  of  it  was  "lost  in  com- 
mittee" or  defeated  on  the  floor  of  the  Assembly  or 
Senate.  Over  all  of  it  the  fighting  was  hard  and 
bitter. 

Once,  by  a  clever  political  trick,  the  "machine" 
defeated  a  non-partisan  appointment  in  which  he 
had  been  deeply  interested.  Roosevelt  laughed  out- 
right when  the  report  came.  He  knew  how  the 
politician  loves  the  sensation  of  driving  a  knife  into 
a  man's  back. 

"They  can  beat  me  at  that  game  every  time,"  he 
said.  "I  never  look  under  the  table  when  I  play, 
and  I  never  shall.  Face  to  face  I  can  defend  myself 
and  make  a  pretty  good  fight,  but  any  weakling  can 

212 


HE   GOVERNS   A   GREAT   STATE 

murder  me.  Remember  this,  however,  that  if  I 
am  hit  that  way  very  often  I  will  take  to  the  open, 
and  the  blows  from  the  dark  will  only  help  me  in 
an  out-and-out  battle." 

Laws  were  presented  and  passed,  at  Roosevelt's 
instigation,  for  forest  preservation  and  the  protec- 
tion of  wild  life,  and  against  the  adulteration  of 
food  products.  In  every  department,  meanwhile, 
the  administration  of  the  laws  was  perfected ;  politi- 
cal intrigue  was  punished ;  honest  service  was  recog- 
nized and  given  its  reward.  A  new  spirit  came  into 
the  administration  of  state  affairs. 

When  a  measure  was  introduced  in  the  Legislature, 
men  were  heard  to  ask  with  increasing  frequency 
not,  "Is  it  expedient?"  or,  "How  is  it  going  to  help 
me?"  or,  "What  is  it  worth  to  the  party?"  but,  "Is 
it  right?" 

Roosevelt  was  stirring  the  conscience  of  the  people 
of  the  state. 

At  the  end  of  four  months  the  inevitable  hap- 
pened and  Roosevelt  reached  a  point  in  his  rela- 
tions with  Piatt  and  the  "machine"  when  tact  and 
what  Bill  Sewall  used  in  the  Dakota  days  to  call 
"die-plomacy"  failed,  and  open  warfare  seemed  in- 
escapable. 

A  Republican  Senator  had  introduced  a  bill  for 
taxing  franchises.  A  franchise  is  a  right,  granted  by 
the  government  of  any  city  to  a  transportation  com- 
pany, to  lay  tracks  and  operate  cars  along  certain 
public  streets.  This  right  has  enormous  cash  value, 
but  no  one  had  ever  thought  of  levying  a  tax  upon 
it.    The  idea,  moreover,  of  interfering  in  any  way 

213 


THEODORE    ROOSEVELT 

with  public-service  corporations  was,  in  those  days, 
unheard  of.  The  corporations  had  hypnotized  the 
public  into  believing  that  any  attempt  by  the  people 
of  the  state  to  limit  their  complete  freedom  of  action 
was  to  undermine  national  prosperity.  Every  man 
who  advocated  such  a  thing  was  said  to  be  a  "so- 
cialist," an  "anarchist,"  a  bad  character  generally. 

The  bill  calling  for  a  franchise  tax  had  been  intro- 
duced during  the  previous  Administration,  but  had 
been  allowed  to  slumber  "in  committee."  Roosevelt 
decided  that  the  bill  was  just,  and  in  a  special  emer- 
gency message  urged  its  passage. 

He  was  scarcely  prepared  for  the  storm  that  broke 
over  his  head. 

Roosevelt  talked  the  matter  over  with  Piatt,  who 
gently  reproached  him  for  what  he  called  his  "vari- 
ous altruistic  ideas,"  intimating  that  "altruism"  was 
something  which  was  not  considered  quite  decent 
among  men  of  the  world.  He  begged  Roosevelt  to 
drop  the  bill  and  let  it  die. 

Roosevelt,  anxious  to  "give  in"  to  the  "Boss"  on 
minor  matters,  for  the  sake  of  harmony,  knew  that 
here  a  fundamental  principle  was  at  stake  and  re- 
fused absolutely  to  give  in. 

Piatt  made  dire  threats.  If  the  bill  were  passed, 
he  declared,  no  corporation  would  ever  contribute  a 
dollar  to  any  campaign  in  which  Roosevelt  might 
henceforth  be  a  candidate.  The  people  would  ap- 
plaud his  independence  and  forget.  The  corpora- 
tions would  be  resentful  and  would  never  forget. 

"Republican  corporations,  too?"  asked  Roosevelt. 

The  "Boss"  smiled  a  thin,  bland  smile.  "The 
214 


HE    GOVERNS    A    GREAT    STATE 

corporations  which  subscribe  most  heavily  to  cam- 
paign funds  subscribe  impartially  to  both  party 
organizations." 

"Under  those  circumstances,"  remarked  Roose- 
velt, "it  seems  to  me  there  is  no  alternative  for  me 
but  to  secure  the  passage  of  the  bill." 

The  "machine"  allowed  the  bill  to  pass  in  the 
Senate,  planning  to  "kill"  it  with  delays  in  the 
Assembly. 

Roosevelt  sent  a  message  to  the  Assembly  demand- 
ing an  immediate  vote  on  the  bill. 

The  session  was  drawing  to  a  close.  The  agents 
for  the  "interests"  in  both  parties  decided  that  if 
they  could  force  even  a  slight  delay  the  session  could 
be  adjourned  before  the  bill  could  be  brought  to  a 
vote. 

Roosevelt's  message  never  reached  the  Assembly. 
The  Speaker  of  the  House,  to  whom  the  Governor's 
secretary  had  delivered  it,  tore  it  up  in  a  rage. 

Roosevelt  prepared  a  duplicate  and  sent  it  to 
the  Speaker  with  a  note  saying  that  if  the  bill  were 
not  read  from  the  desk  it  would  be  read  from  the 
floor,  and  if  it  were  not  read  from  the  floor,  he 
would  go  to  the  hall  of  the  Assembly  and  read  it 
himself. 

The  bill  was  read  and  passed. 

Roosevelt  signed  it  in  the  Executive  Chamber. 

"Well,"  he  said,  abruptly,  snapping  his  teeth 
together,  "I  suppose  that's  the  end  of  my  political 
career." 

"You're  mistaken,  Governor,"  said  a  state  Senator 
who  was  present.     "That  is  only  the  beginning." 

215 


THEODORE    ROOSEVELT 

He  moved  his  official  residence  to  Oyster  Bay  and 
spent  the  summer  alternating  work  with  the  keen 
delights  that  Sagamore  Hill  and  three  adjoining 
households  of  children  offered.  There  were  sixteen 
of  the  "bunnies"  altogether,  six  of  them  his  own, 
from  Alice,  who  was  fifteen,  to  Quentin,  who  was 
one.  They  had  a  way,  in  the  summers,  of  running 
as  a  herd,  with  the  master  of  Sagamore  Hill  as  chief 
counselor,  companion,  and  friend. 

Theodore  Roosevelt  had  a  rare  way  of  stimulat- 
ing their  sports  and  entering,  as  an  equal  and  con- 
temporary, into  the  pleasures  and  sorrows  and 
thrills  of  boy-and-girl  life.  As  a  boy,  he  himself  had 
loved  to  explore  and  hunt  and  ride  and  play  in  the 
water.  He  had,  in  fact,  never  ceased  loving  these 
things. 

In  the  terms  of  the  politician,  "he  carried  his  own 
ward."  The  sixteen  children  of  Sagamore  and 
round  about  elected  him  leader  without  a  dissenting 
vote. 

They  had  great  times  together  that  summer. 
They  played  "stage-coach"  on  the  raft,  among  other 
things,  which  meant  that  the  counselor  and  friend 
would  tell  an  elaborate  story  whose  climaxes  came 
with  the  utterance  of  the  word  "stage-coach" 
which  was  the  signal  for  "Everybody  in!"  There 
was  a  flashing  of  many  legs  and  then  an  anxious 
moment  for  the  Governor  of  the  state  standing  on 
the  raft,  counting  heads.  The  boys  discovered,  by 
and  by,  that  they  could  breathe  out  of  sight  under 
the  raft,  which  did  not  simplify  life  for  the  Governor 
on  the  float. 

216 


HE   GOVERNS   A   GREAT   STATE 

The  water  provided  endless  delights,  for  now  and 
again  the  master  of  Sagamore  would  take  the  chil- 
dren camping  overnight  on  the  beach  or  on  a  wrecked 
and  abandoned  schooner  half  a  dozen  miles  away. 
There  was  an  old  barn,  moreover,  that  stood  at  the 
meeting-spot  of  three  fences  and  proved  extraor- 
dinarily useful  in  obstacle  races,  at  which  the  Gov- 
ernor was  the  conscientious  timekeeper.  There 
were  handicap  races  at  Cooper's  Bluff,  a  gigantic 
sand-bank  rising  from  the  edge  of  the  bay,  a  mile 
from  the  house;  and,  as  usual,  a  Fourth  of  July 
celebration  that  was  as  far  removed  from  "safe  and 
sane"  as  children  who  reveled  in  close  shaves  could 
make  it.  * 

From  a  mere  human  standpoint,  that  summer  was 
a  great  success;  and  politically  it  brought  none  of 
the  disaster  that  Piatt  and  the  "machine"  leaders 
had  gloomily  predicted.  The  Governor's  prestige 
grew.  He  was  conscious  of  his  increasing  popularity, 
but  it  was  his  heart  rather  than  his  head  which  ex- 
panded under  it,  for  he  knew  too  well  the  imper- 
manence  of  popular  favor. 

What  great  fun  I  have  had  as  governor!  [he  wrote  to  Mrs. 
Robinson  in  September].  Just  at  the  moment  I  am  on  the 
crest  of  the  wave.  I  know  perfectly  well  that  the  crest  is  always 
succeeded  by  the  hollow,  which  makes  it  all  the  wiser  to  have 
good  fun  while  on  the  crest. 

That  was  a  sound  piece  of  philosophy  which  he 
had  reason  to  remember  more  than  once  during  the 
succeeding  months. 

He  began  the  second  year  of  his  administration 
217 


THEODORE    ROOSEVELT 

with  a  message  to  the  Legislature  that  revealed 
vividly  the  amazing  growth  of  his  powers  during 
the  past  twelve  months. 

It  was  not  merely  an  administrator's  record  of 
things  accomplished  and  schedule  of  things  yet  to 
be  done.  It  was  a  statesman's  clear  analysis  of  the 
social,  industrial,  and  political  problems  of  his  time, 
with  a  statesman's  recommendations  for  their 
solution. 

Through  that  message,  delivered  on  January  3, 
1900,  Theodore  Roosevelt,  in  a  sense,  took  command 
of  the  new  century. 

Meanwhile,  he  was  having  what  he  called  his 
"parochial  troubles."  With  the  large  issues  of 
capital  and  labor,  of  trusts  and  conservation  and 
just  government,  absorbing  his  attention  more  and 
more,  he  was  not  neglecting  to  attend  to  the  prac- 
tical application  of  his  theories.  The  result  was 
that  for  a  second  time  he  came  to  death-grips  with 
Piatt  and  the  "machine." 

The  Commissioner  of  Insurance,  "Lou"  Payn, 
was  a  spoils  politician  of  the  old  school,  the  "boss" 
of  his  county.  His  term  was  drawing  to  a  close. 
Roosevelt  determined  not  to  reappoint  him. 

Piatt  sent  him  word  peremptorily  that  Payn  must 
be  reappointed. 

The  Governor  was  firm. 

Piatt  declared  that  he  would  fight,  and  would 
see  to  it  that  any  successor  whom  Roosevelt  might 
name  would  be  refused  confirmation  by  the  state 
Senate. 

Roosevelt,  keeping  his  temper,  genially  replied 
218 


HE    GOVERNS    A    GREAT    STATE 

that  he  would  make  his  appointment  after  the 
Legislature  adjourned. 

Piatt  insisted  that  as  soon  as  the  Legislature  re- 
convened Payn  would  be  reinstalled. 

"Very  good,"  said  Roosevelt.  "You  can  give 
me  a  very  uncomfortable  time  if  you  want  to,  but 
I'll  guarantee  to  make  the  opposition  more  uncom- 
fortable still." 

The  fight  raged  for  weeks.  Meanwhile,  Roose- 
velt was  not  letting  the  administration  of  public 
affairs  altogether  interrupt  his  other  activities. 
During  the  preceding  year  he  had  published  The 
Rough  Riders,  describing  the  part  of  his  regiment 
in  the  Cuban  campaign.  He  was  now  busy  on  a 
Life  of  Oliver  Cromwell.  He  made  frequent  speeches 
at  public  gatherings  and  in  odd  moments  contrived 
to  keep  his  body  in  trim. 

It  was  at  the  very  height  of  the  Payn  affair  that 
his  passion  for  healthy  exercise  threatened  to  upset 
the  serious  business  of  the  state. 

Recently  [he  wrote  to  his  sister,  Mrs.  Cowles,  on  January 
2  2d]  I  have  been  having  a  little  too  much  strenuous  life  with 
a  large  gentleman  whom  I  have  had  up  to  wrestle  with  me. 
First  of  all  he  caved  in  my  ribs.  When  I  got  over  those  I  fetched 
loose  one  shoulder-blade,  while  endeavoring  to  give  him  a 
flying  fall.     I  think  I  shall  take  to  boxing  as  a  gentler  sport. 

He  carried  out  his  intention.  Mike  Donovan,  the 
ex-light-weight  champion,  whom  he  lured  to  Albany 
to  box  with  him,  has  himself  left  a  record  of  the  gen- 
tleness of  the  sport  as  the  Governor  conceived  it. 

After  we  shook  hands  [he  writes  in  a  book  of  reminiscences] 
I  studied  him  carefully.    Then  I  led  a  left  jab,  following  it  up 

219 


THEODORE   ROOSEVELT 

with  a  faint-hearted  right  that  landed  like  a  love-tap  high  up 
on  his  cheek. 

He  dropped  his  hands  and  stopped.  "Look  here,  Mike,"  he 
said,  indignantly,  "that  is  not  fair." 

I  was  afraid  I  had  done  something  wrong.  "What's  the 
matter,  Governor?"  I  asked. 

"You're  not  hitting  me,"  he  said,  shaking  his  head.  "I'd 
like  you  to  hit  out." 

"All  right,  Governor,"  I  said,  thinking  to  myself,  this  man 
has  a  pretty  good  opinion  of  himself. 

We  started  in  again,  and  I  sent  in  a  hard  right  to  the  body 
as  he  rushed  in,  and  then  tried  a  swinging  left  for  the  jaw.  He 
stepped  inside  and  drove  his  right  to  my  ear. 

It  jarred  me  down  to  the  heels. 

I  realized  from  that  moment  that  the  Governor  was  no 
ordinary  amateur.  If  I  took  chances  with  him  I  was  endanger- 
ing my  reputation. 

The  insurance  fight  went  on. 

Roosevelt  picked  out  an  honest  and  competent 
man  from  the  organization  as  Payn's  successor  and 
prepared  to  send  his  appointment  to  the  Senate 
for  confirmation.  The  afternoon  before  the  nomi- 
nation was  to  be  made  public  he  conferred  with 
Piatt  and  asked  him  for  the  last  time  to  yield. 

Piatt  refused  flatly,  saying  that  if  Roosevelt  in- 
sisted it  should  be  war  to  the  knife.  "That  will 
mean  your  political  destruction,"  he  said.  "Per- 
haps it  will  mean  the  destruction  of  the  Republican 
party." 

"I  am  very  sorry,"  Roosevelt  answered.  "I  sim- 
ply can't  yield  in  this.  If  that  means  war,  then 
war  will  have  to  come.  The  nomination  goes  to  the 
Senate  to-morrow  morning." 

They   parted.     Shortly   afterward   Piatt's   right- 

220 


HE    GOVERNS    A    GREAT    STATE 

hand  lieutenant  sent  Roosevelt  a  message  request- 
ing an  interview  that  evening.  Roosevelt  met  him 
at  the  Union  League  Club. 

The  man  went  over  the  old  ground  once  more. 
"Piatt  won't  give  in  under  any  circumstances,"  he 
asserted.  "If  you  try  to  fight  him,  he'll  beat  you, 
and  that  will  be  your  finish.  It  seems  too  bad  for 
you  to  end  a  fine  career  in  a  smash-up  like  that." 

Roosevelt  repeated  that  he  intended  to  stand 
fast.  The  man  protested.  They  argued  the  matter 
for  a  half-hour  more;    then  Roosevelt  rose. 

"There's  nothing  to  be  gained  by  further  talk," 
he  said. 

"It's  your  last  chance,"  cried  the  other.  "It's 
your  ruin  if  you  don't  take  it.  On  the  other  hand," 
he  added,  "if  you  do,  everything  will  be  made  easy 
for  you." 

Roosevelt  shook  his  head.  "There  is  nothing  to 
add  to  what  I  have  already  said." 

"You  have  made  up  your  mind?" 

"I  have." 

"You  know  it  means  your  ruin?" 

"We  will  see  about  that,"  cried  the  Governor, 
and  walked  to  the  door. 

"You  understand  the  fight  begins  to-morrow. 
And  it  '11  be  to  the  bitter  end." 

"I  understand,"  said  Roosevelt,  and  opened  the 
door.     "Good  night." 

And  at  that  last  word  the  politician  took  a  quick 
step  toward  him.  "Hold  on!"  he  cried.  "We  ac- 
cept. Send  in  your  nomination.  The  Senator  is 
very  sorry,  but  he  will  make  no  further  opposition." 

221 


THEODORE    ROOSEVELT 

Roosevelt  had  "called  the  bluff."  Payn  was  re- 
moved. Roosevelt's  appointee  was  confirmed.  On 
a  clear-cut  issue  of  right  and  wrong,  Roosevelt  had 
stood  immovable,  and  had  won. 

And  he  had  won  for  a  reason  which  the  pro- 
fessional politicians  who  had  appealed  to  his  politi- 
cal ambitions  would  never  have  understood;  he 
really  had  no  "political  ambitions"  as  they  under- 
stood the  term. 

On  the  sands  at  Montauk  Point,  the  previous 
autumn,  Lincoln  Steffens  had  asked  him  whether 
he  wasn't  thinking  of  the  Presidency. 

Roosevelt  had  stopped  short.  "No,  no.  Don't 
ever  say  that  again.  I  never  sought  an  office.  I 
always  wanted  a  job,  for  I  like  work." 

The  Governorship  was  a  job,  a  chance  to  do 
certain  things  that  ought  to  be  done. 

I  am  proud  of  being  Governor  and  am  going  to  try  to  make 
a  square  and  decent  one  [he  had  written  to  Sewall  in  January]. 
I  do  not  expect,  however,  to  hold  political  office  again,  and  in 
one  way  that  is  a  help,  because  the  politicians  cannot  threaten 
me  with  what  they  will  do  in  the  future. 

The  "Boss"  and  his  henchmen  would  have  saved 
themselves  a  great  deal  of  time  and  trouble  if  they 
could  have  brought  themselves  to  believe  that 
Roosevelt  was  interested  not  in  "holding  an  office," 
but  in  doing  a  job. 

Of  course,  they  did  not  believe  it.  Being  them- 
selves men  who  lived  by  plotting  and  intrigue,  they 
naturally  thought  that  he,  too,  was  an  intriguer, 
ascribing  to  him  a  Machiavellian  cunning  which  he 

222 


HE    GOVERNS    A   GREAT    STATE 

never  possessed.  He  was,  with  all  his  learning  and 
with  all  his  experience  and  knowledge  of  men,  still 
an  unusually  simple-hearted  and,  in  the  deepest 
sense,  unsophisticated  boy. 

Like  Peter  Pan,  he  had  never  grown  up.  At 
forty  he  was  applying  to  the  tangled  problems  of 
government  the  ardor,  the  energy,  and  the  un- 
clouded standards  of  boyhood: 

And  for  that  reason  the  politicians  found  him  ut- 
terly baffling. 

Roosevelt's  utterances  concerning  the  rights  of 
labor  and  the  regulation  of  trusts  had  meanwhile 
been  making  the  "interests"  uneasy.  His  personal 
force  was  great,  his  popularity  was  constantly  in- 
creasing. If  life  was  to  proceed  undisturbed  for 
the  "predatory  rich,"  it  was  highly  important  that 
Theodore  Roosevelt  should  be  "laid  on  the  shelf." 
There  was  no  better  shelf  in  American  politics  than 
the  Vice-Presidency. 

Roosevelt,  it  happened,  knew  this  as  well  as  the 
politicians  knew  it,  and  he  had  no  intention  of 
stepping  into  the  trap.  For  he  enjoyed  being  Gov- 
ernor and  he  was  more  than  a  little  elated  with  his 
success. 

I  am  having  my  hands  full  here,  as  usual  [he  wrote  to  his 
sister,  the  end  of  February],  but  somehow  I  contrive  to  wiggle 
through.  Occasionally  I  talk  pretty  to  the  gentlemen;  occa- 
sionally I  thump  them  with  a  club;  and  by  generally  doing 
each  at  the  right  time  and  in  the  right  way  I  have  been  able 
to  get  along  better  than  could  reasonably  have  been  expected. 
Everything  is  as  straight  as  a  string,  and  done  as  honestly 
as  can  be  done. 

223 


THEODORE    ROOSEVELT 

He  had  his  hands  firmly  on  the  reins  at  Albany. 
But  his  activities  were  by  no  means  confined  to  his 
state.  He  was  beginning  to  be  recognized  as  the 
leader  of  the  new  progressive  movement  in  the 
nation. 

During  the  winter  and  early  spring  of  1900  he 
spoke  here  and  there  over  the  country  on  the  fun- 
damental issues  before  the  nation.  The  American 
people  listened,  stirred  by  his  youthful  enthusiasm 
and  the  hot  sincerity  of  his  crusading  spirit. 

There  are  dangers  of  peace  and  dangers  of  war  [he  said  at 
Grant's  birthplace  in  Galena,  Illinois,  late  that  April],  dangers 
of  excess  in  militarism  and  of  excess  by  the  avoidance  of  duty 
that  implies  militarism;  dangers  of  slow  dry  rot  and  dangers 
which  become  acute  only  in  great  crises.  When  these  crises 
come,  the  nation  will  triumph  or  sink  accordingly  as  it  pro- 
duces or  fails  to  produce  statesmen  like  Lincoln  or  soldiers  like 
Grant,  and  accordingly  as  it  does  or  does  not  back  them  up 
in  their  efforts.  We  do  not  need  men  of  unsteady  brilliancy, 
or  erratic  power — unbalanced  men.  The  men  we  need  are  the 
men  of  strong,  earnest,  solid  character — the  men  who  possess 
the  homely  virtues,  and  who  to  these  virtues  add  rugged  courage, 
rugged  honesty,  and  high  resolve.  ...  To  do  our  duty,  that 
is  the  sum  and  substance  of  the  whole  matter. 

He  pleaded  for  national  preparedness;  for  the 
acceptance  and  fulfilment  of  the  nation's  inter- 
national obligations. 

Let  us  make  it  evident  that  we  intend  to  do  justice  [he  said]. 
Then  let  us  make  it  equally  evident  that  we  will  not  tolerate 
injustice  being  done  us  in  return.  Let  us  further  make  it 
evident'  that  we  use  no  words  that  we  are  not  prepared  to  back 
up  with  deeds,  and  that  while  our  speech  is  always  moderate, 

224 


HE    GOVERNS    A   GREAT    STATE 

we  are  willing  and  ready  to  make  it  good.  Such  an  attitude 
will  be  the  surest  guaranty  of  that  self-respecting  peace,  the 
attainment  of  which  is  and  must  ever  be  the  prime  aim  of  a 
self-governing  people. 

Roosevelt's  friends,  meanwhile,  were  working  for 
the  same  end  as  his  foes  and  were  pleading  with 
him  to  allow  himself  to  be  nominated  for  the  Vice- 
Presidency.  But  Roosevelt  refused  utterly  to  con- 
sider the  proposal. 

It  would  be  an  irksome,  wearisome  place  where  I  could  do 
nothing  [he  wrote  Mrs.  Cowles].  At  present  it  looks  as  if  I 
would  be  renominated.  There  is  more  work  to  be  done  in  the 
Governorship  in  two  years  than  in  the  Vice-Presidency  in  four; 
and  with  our  kaleidoscopic  politics  it  is  foolish  to  look  too  far 
ahead  as  regards  places — as  regards  the  work  itself,  I  always 
follow  the  same  lines.  My  being  in  politics  is  in  a  sense  an 
accident;  and  it  is  only  a  question  of  time  when  I  shall  be  forced 
out.  .  .  .  The  best  thing  I  can  do  is  to  strive  to  get  the  position 
in  which  I  can  do  most  work,  and  that  position  is  surely  the 
Governorship. 

As  the  time  of  the  national  Republican  conven- 
tion drew  near,  however,  both  Roosevelt's  friends 
and  his  foes  intensified  their  efforts  to  persuade  him 
to  accept  the  second  place  on  the  ticket. 

But  he  went  his  way,  refusing  good-humoredly 
to  take  them  seriously  when  they  suggested  that 
behind  the  Vice-Presidency  might  loom  a  greater 
honor  in  1904. 

Cabot  feels  that  I  have  a  career  [he  wrote  to  Mrs.  Cowles, 
the  end  of  April].     The  dear  old  goose  actually  regards  me  as  a 
Presidential  possibility  of  the  future,  which  always  makes  me 
15  225 


THEODORE    ROOSEVELT 

thoroughly  exasperated,  because  sooner  or  later  it  will  have 
the  effect  of  making  other  people  think  that  I  so  regard  myself 
and  that  therefore  I  am  a  ridiculous  personage. 

He  insisted  again  and  again  that  he  would  not 
accept  the  nomination  for  the  Vice-Presidency,  that 
he  would,  in  fact,  rather  be  a  private  citizen  than  be 
Vice-President.  Piatt  apparently  accepted  his  de- 
cision. At  the  convention  in  Philadelphia,  at  which 
Roosevelt  himself  was  a  delegate,  Piatt,  however, 
threatened  to  thwart  Roosevelt's  desire  for  a  re- 
nomination  as  Governor  if  Roosevelt  persisted  in 
his  refusal.  Roosevelt  took  up  the  challenge  and 
announced  that  he  would  make  the  threat  public. 
Piatt  submitted.  The  New  York  delegation  was 
instructed  to  cast  its  votes  for  Lieutenant-Governor 
Woodruff  for  Vice-President. 

But  Roosevelt  as  well  as  the  "machine"  was 
reckoning  without  the  forces  that  Roosevelt  had  by 
his  acts  and  his  utterances  awakened  in  the  West. 
The  demand  for  Roosevelt  for  Vice-President  be- 
came too  insistent  to  be  disregarded.  Senator 
Hanna,  the  national  "boss"  who  had  opposed 
Roosevelt,  began  to  waver. 

That  night  a  group  of  newspaper-men  called  on 
Roosevelt  at  his  hotel.  He  told  them  with  all  the 
emphasis  at  his  command  that  he  did  not  want  the 
nomination  and  that  he  did  not  intend  to  be  nomi- 
nated if  he  could  help  it. 

It  happened  that  he  could  not  help  it.  Strange 
forces  worked  together  to  set  aside  his  personal 
desire. 

The    Western    delegates    declared    that    unless 


HE    GOVERNS    A   GREAT    STATE 

Roosevelt  were  nominated  for  Vice-President  they 
would  abandon  McKinley  and  nominate  Roosevelt, 
not  for  second  but  for  first  place  on  the  ticket. 

Roosevelt  finally  became  convinced  that  there  was 
a  genuine  desire  that  he  take  second  place  on  the 
ticket  in  order  to  strengthen  it  before  the  country. 
He  yielded,  deciding  to  do  the  duty  that  offered 
itself,  and  let  the  future  bring  what  it  might. 

President  McKinley  was  renominated  for  Presi- 


ROOSEVELT   CANNOT   GET   AWAY    FROM    THIS    STAMPEDE 
(From  the  Philadelphia  Inquirer) 


dent;   Roosevelt  was  nominated  for  Vice-President; 
both  by  acclamation. 

"I  would  not  like  to  be  in  McKinley 's  shoes,"  said 
Roosevelt's  classmate,  Washburn,  to  a  friend,  shortly 
after.     "He  has  a  man  of  destiny  behind  him." 


Roosevelt  was  sent  into  the  field  to  be  his  party's 
spokesman,  and  for  over  two  months  he  "stumped" 
the  country,  traveling  twenty-two  thousand  miles, 

227 


THEODORE    ROOSEVELT 

making  from  five  to  six  hundred  speeches  of  con- 
siderable length,  addressing  face  to  face  between 
three  and  four  million  of  his  fellow-citizens.  He  was 
not  an  orator  of  the  silvery  sort.  His  voice  had  no 
particularly  pleasing  quality,  and,  though  he  had 
a  gift  for  creating  telling  phrases  that  caught  the 
popular  fancy,  he  had  no  gift  at  all  for  building  up 
elaborate  rhetorical  effects. 

The  strength  of  his  speeches  was  altogether  in  the 
spirit  from  which  they  sprang.  He  spoke  with  the 
passionate  ardor  of  a  crusader,  and  carried  his  audi- 
ences off  their  feet  by  the  sheer  force  of  his  sincerity. 

For  Roosevelt  it  was  an  exhausting  experience. 
But  his  tough  constitution  bore  him  through  it. 
The  trip  was  an  extraordinary  success.  The  cam- 
paign awoke,  for  the  people  had  awakened. 

The  Republican  ticket  was  elected. 

Roosevelt,  believing  that  his  political  career  was 
ended,  looked  about  for  something  to  occupy  him 
during  his  term  in  the  Vice-Presidency  and  after- 
ward. He  made  up  his  mind  to  expand  his  Winning 
of  the  West,  and,  in  conjunction  with  his  private 
secretary,  William  Loeb,  Jr.,  who,  like  himself,  had 
an  unfinished  law  course  to  his  credit,  determined 
to  complete  his  preparation  for  admission  to  the 
bar,  which  had  been  interrupted  by  his  election  to 
the  Assembly  nearly  twenty  years  previous. 

These  plans  were  never  carried  out. 

On  September  6th  President  McKinley  was  shot 
in  Buffalo. 

Roosevelt  heard  the  news  at  Isle  La  Motte,  in 
Lake  Champlain.    He  went  to  Buffalo  at  once,  ar- 

228 


HE    GOVERNS    A    GREAT    STATE 

riving  early  the  following  morning,  feeling,  as  he 
confessed  that  evening,  "a  hundred  years  old." 
The  sudden  realization  that  he  might  at  any  mo- 
ment be  called  to  the  chief  place  in  the  nation  stag- 
gered him.  The  possibility  had  never  entered  his 
head. 

The  news  with  which  he  was  greeted  was  cheer- 
ing. The  President  was  resting  well.  Recovery  was 
more  than  possible.     Roosevelt's  spirits  rose. 

The  bulletins  from  the  bedside  continued  favor- 
able. He  conferred  with  the  members  of  the 
Cabinet,  who  had  hurried  to  Buffalo.  The  affairs 
of  the  nation  were  in  firm  control.  On  the  nth 
the  physicians  in  attendance  declared  that  the 
President  was  practically  out  of  danger.  The  mem- 
bers of  the  Cabinet  began  to  leave  the  city.  Roose- 
velt decided  to  join  his  family,  who  were  at  the 
Tahawus  Club  in  the  heart  of  the  Adirondacks. 

The  morning  of  the  13th  was  misty,  threatening 
rain,  but  Roosevelt  had  determined  to  ascend  Mount 
Marcy  with  Mrs.  Roosevelt  and  the  children  that 
day,  and  at  six  they  were  on  their  way.  At  a  pretty 
lake  called  "Tear  in  the  Clouds,"  Mrs.  Roosevelt 
and  the  smaller  children  turned  back,  while  Roose- 
velt, who  was  hoping  that  above  the  clouds  on  the 
summit  there  might  be  sunlight,  pushed  on  with 
the  older  boys.  On  the  peak,  as  below,  they  found 
only  fog.  They  descended  and  camped  for  lunch- 
eon at  the  timber-line.  A  thin  rain  was  falling. 
They  spread  out  their  lunch,  feeling  wet  and 
uncomfortable. 

News  had  meanwhile  come  to  North  Creek, 
229 


THEODORE    ROOSEVELT 

thirty-five  miles  from  Tahawus,  that  the  President 
had  had  a  sudden  relapse.  The  message  was  tele- 
phoned to  the  lower  club,  twenty-five  miles  north. 
Mounted  messengers  were  sent  to  the  upper  club, 
ten  miles  away. 

The  man  in  charge  of  the  club  told  the  riders, 
when  they  came,  that  the  Vice-President  was  some- 
where on  the  sides  of  Mount  Marcy. 

Runners  were  despatched  in  all  directions. 

Roosevelt,  descending  the  mountain  in  the  late 
afternoon,  heard  shots  fired  in  the  distance,  at  regu- 
lar intervals.  It  occurred  to  him  that  it  was  a 
signal.     He  fired  his  own  gun  in  answer. 

It  was  five  o'clock  when  the  men  who  were  search- 
ing for  him  found  him  at  last.  They  gave  him  a 
message  from  the  President's  secretary: 

The   President's   condition   has   changed   for   the   worse. — 

CORTELYOU. 

He  descended  quickly  to  the  club-house.  No 
further  news  had  come.  He  sent  runners  to  the 
lower  club-house,  ten  miles  away,  where  there  was 
telephone  connection  with  the  outside  world,  and 
waited.     The  hours  passed. 

He  walked  alone  up  and  down  in  front  of  the 
cottage  where  he  was  living,  trying  to  think  it 
all  out. 

At  one  in  the  morning  the  summons  arrived, 
"Come  at  once." 

He  flung  his  grip  into  the  buckboard  that  was 
waiting  for  him  and  was  off. 

It  was  a  bad  night,  misty  and  black.     The  road 


HE    GOVERNS    A    GREAT    STATE 

was  less  a  road  than  a  wide  trail,  cut  into  gorges 
only  a  day  or  two  before  by  a  cloudburst  which  had 
drenched  Roosevelt  on  his  way  to  the  club. 

The  driver  turned  to  the  man  beside  him,  hesi- 
tating. 

"Go  ahead!"  cried  Roosevelt. 

The  man  went  ahead.  The  light  wagon  jumped 
from  side  to  side,  threatening  to  fling  its  passengers 
out  now  on  this  side,  now  on  that.  It  skirted  dan- 
gerous abysses,  it  just  missed  dashing  into  boulders 
and  trees.     The  driver  turned  once  more. 

"Go  on!"  cried  Roosevelt. 

He  went  on.  Into  the  blackness  he  went,  the 
horses  finding  their  way  by  instinct  rather  than 
sight,  the  wagon  holding  together  by  the  grace  of 
Providence. 

Ten  miles  down  the  trail  they  found  fresh  horses 
waiting  for  them.  Roosevelt  helped  the  driver  un- 
hitch the  exhausted  team  by  the  light  of  a  lantern 
and  hitch  the  new  team  to  the  shaken  buckboard. 
Then  again  they  were  off  into  the  blackness. 

It  was  thirty-five  miles  to  the  railroad  at  North 
Creek.  Ten  miles  farther  down  they  came  on 
another  fresh  relay.  They  changed  the  horses  and 
again  were  away  along  the  rocky  trail  at  breakneck 
speed. 

Roosevelt  cmng  to  the  seat  as  the  wagon  swayed 
this  way  and  that. 

"Too  fast?"  cried  the  driver. 

"Go  on!"  cried  Roosevelt. 

The  east  was  paling  as  they  dashed  into  North 
Creek  at  five  in  the  morning.     A  special  train  was 

231 


THEODORE    ROOSEVELT 

waiting  at  the  station.  The  driver  drew  up  at  the 
platform. 

Loeb  was  there  to  meet  him.  "The  President  is 
dead,"  he  said. 

Theodore  Roosevelt  was  President  of  the  United 
States. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

HE    INAUGURATES   A   NEW   ERA 

HE  arrived  at  Buffalo  at  three  o'clock  that  after- 
noon. The  members  of  the  Cabinet,  he  was 
told,  were  awaiting  him  at  the  house  of  Ansley 
Wilcox,  on  Delaware  Avenue,  where  he  had  stayed 
earlier  in  the  week;  but  he  asked  to  be  driven  first 
to  the  house  where  the  body  of  William  McKinley 
was  lying.  The  crowds  on  the  streets  were  dense, 
and  cheered  him  as  he  was  driven  swiftly  by.  He 
drew  back  to  the  rear  of  the  coach.  It  did  not  seem 
to  him  the  time  for  cheering. 

He  found  the  members  of  the  Cabinet  assembled 
at  the  Wilcox  house,  when  he  arrived.  Only  Secre- 
tary Gage  and  Secretary  Hay  were  absent.  There 
were,  besides,  twenty  or  thirty  personal  friends  in  the 
room.  Elihu  Root,  Secretary  of  War,  drew  him  aside. 
With  arms  on  each  other's  shoulders  they  conversed 
in  whispers  in  the  bay-window. 

Judge  Hazel  of  the  Federal  Circuit  Court  drew 
near. 

The  two  men  at  the  window  turned.  Then  the 
Secretary  of  War  spoke. 

"Mr.  Vice-President — "  he  began.  His  voice 
233 


THEODORE    ROOSEVELT 

broke.  "I — "  He  dropped  his  head  and  was  silent 
for  what  seemed  an  endless  time.  The  silence  was 
oppressive.  No  one  stirred.  A  bird  chirped  sud- 
denly outside. 

Roosevelt's  eyes  were  brimming  with  tears  and 
his  face  was  set  in  a  stern  effort  at  self-control. 
The  Secretary  of  War  raised  his  head.  His  voice 
when  he  spoke  was  tremulous  with  feeling,  but  his 
words  were  deliberate  and  clear.  The  members  of 
the  Cabinet,  he  said,  wished  that,  for  reasons  of 
state,  he  should  take  the  oath  at  once. 

Roosevelt,  too,  had  difficulty  in  controlling  his 
emotion  and  governing  his  voice.  "I  shall  take  the 
oath  at  once  in  response  to  your  request,"  he  said. 
"And  in  this  hour  of  deep  and  terrible  bereavement 
I  wish  to  state  that  it  shall  be  my  aim  to  continue 
absolutely  unbroken  the  policy  of  President  McKin- 
ley  for  the  peace  and  prosperity  of  our  beloved 
country." 

Then  Judge  Hazel  administered  the  oath. 

"I  do  solemnly  swear,"  Roosevelt  repeated,  hold- 
ing his  hand  high,  "that  I  will  faithfully  execute  the 
office  of  President  of  the  United  States,  and  will, 
to  the  best  of  my  ability,  preserve,  protect,  and  de- 
fend the  Constitution  of  the  United  States." 

And  to  that  he  added,  with  what  one  of  the  men 
present  called  his  "terrible  earnestness" — "And  thus 
I  swear.'" 

A  half -hour  later  he  held  his  first  Cabinet  meet- 
ing. 

"I  wish  each  of  you  gentlemen,"  he  said,  "to 
remain  as  a  member  of  my  Cabinet.     I  need  your 

234 


A    NEW    ERA 

advice  and  counsel.  I  tender  you  the  office  in  the 
same  manner  that  I  would  tender  it  if  I  were  enter- 
ing upon  the  discharge  of  my  duties  as  the  result 
of  an  election  by  the  people,  with  this  distinction, 
however,  that  I  cannot  accept  a  declination." 

There  were  no  declinations,  though  the  Secretaries 
had  their  own  notions  concerning  the  possibility 
of  a  McKinley  Cabinet  becoming  a  Roosevelt 
Cabinet. 

And  so  the  country  again  had  a  President.  The 
anarchist  had  with  his  crime  shaken  the  American 
people  to  the  depths,  but  not  for  an  instant  had  he 
shaken  the  structure  of  orderly  government.  A 
week  passed  by.  The  new  President  returned  from 
the  funeral  of  his  predecessor  and  took  up  his  resi- 
dence at  the  White  House.  The  business  of  the 
nation  went  on  without  a  break. 

It  was  only  after  months  had  passed  that  men 
began  dimly  to  realize  that  during  the  night  of  that 
wild  ride  from  Tahawus  to  North  Creek  an  era  had 
ended. 

Theodore  Roosevelt,  suddenly  the  center  of  the 
world's  attention,  walked  up  and  down  his  new 
study  and  began  to  dictate  his  first  message  to 
Congress. 

It  was  delivered  on  December  3d.  The  last  faint 
rumors  that  the  new  President  was  a  wild  revolu- 
tionist died  amid  the  chorus  of  praise  which  the 
message  evoked.  Europe  recognized  that  a  great 
constructive  statesman  was  at  the  helm  in  America 
and  paid  enthusiastic  tribute.  Only  the  papers  of 
Vienna  and  Berlin  growled.     They  did  not  like  the 

235 


THEODORE    ROOSEVELT 

references  to  the  Monroe  Doctrine.  A  London  paper 
quoted  the  Kaiser  as  saying  that  the  "American 
peril"  was  the  great  question  of  the  future. 

Roosevelt's  main  interest,  at  the  moment,  was 
not  in  international  affairs,  but  in  the  intelligent 
adjustment  of  the  relations  of  capital  and  labor. 
He  saw,  as  few  others  saw  it,  that  the  era  of  un- 
hampered, cutthroat  competition,  which  had  fol- 
lowed the  Civil  War,  was  ended.  Under  pioneers 
like  Morgan,  Harriman,  and  James  J.  Hill  vast 
stretches  of  country  had  been  opened  to  settlement 
and  agriculture,  and  trade  had  wonderfully  expanded. 
Not  these  men  only,  but  all  their  countrymen  had, 
through  their  prosperity,  prospered  in  turn.  The 
individualism  of  the  pioneers  had  brought  evils  with 
it.  A  generation  ago  the  benefits  of  their  activities 
had  far  outweighed  the  evils.  Gradually  the  bal- 
ance had  shifted.  The  enormous  growth  and  ex- 
tension of  the  power  of  the  financial  and  industrial 
leaders  had  given  them  an  almost  despotic  control 
over  vast  numbers  of  their  fellow-citizens.  Some  of 
these  leaders  regarded  themselves  as  above  the  law. 
Governors,  legislatures,  and  judges  were  their  tools; 
college  presidents,  preachers,  and  the  editors  of  the 
greatest  newspapers  in  the  country  their  agents  and 
defenders.  Their  grip  on  both  great  political  parties 
seemed  absolute.  An  insurrection  in  one  of  them, 
such  as  the  free-silver  crusade  in  1896,  served  by 
its  crude  excesses  only  to  make  more  firm  than  be- 
fore their  control  over  the  other. 

Meanwhile,  the  rapid  increase  in  population 
caused  congestion  in  the  cities,  and  conditions  ap- 

236 


sfajfttiif  ,       \  -  --*S-^^=^=^ 


"the  rough  rider" 

With  Mr.  Punch's  best  wishes  to  President  Roosevelt 

(From  Punch,  London) 


THEODORE    ROOSEVELT 

proaching  slavery  in  the  mines  and  large  industries. 
The  great  mass  vaguely  known  as  "the  working- 
class"  muttered  and  protested.  There  were  strikes 
and  riots,  put  down  with  ruthless  violence  by  troops 
under  the  direct  or  indirect  command  of  the  em- 
ployers. Laws  that  were  passed  to  better  the  con- 
ditions of  the  employee  or  to  curb  the  greed  of  the 
employer  were  either  never  enforced  or  flatly  de- 
clared unconstitutional  by  judges  controlled  by  the 
financial  interests,  or  out  of  touch  with  actual 
conditions. 

During  the  last  decade  of  the  nineteenth  century 
the  country  was  in  grave  danger  of  becoming  a 
plutocracy,  with  tyrannical  power  in  the  hands  of 
a  small  group  of  selfish  and  unscrupulous  men.  That 
it  did  not  become  such  a  plutocracy  is  due  largely 
to  the  clear  vision  and  unfaltering  leadership  of 
Theodore  Roosevelt. 

Roosevelt  demanded  that  corporations  be  super- 
vised and  regulated.  He  insisted,  moreover,  that 
they  be  punished,  not  for  their  size,  but  only  for 
their  misdeeds.  He  promised  capital,  as  he  prom- 
ised labor,  even-handed  justice,  a  "square  deal." 

He  discovered  with  somewhat  of  a  shock  that  a 
"square  deal"  was  not  the  sort  of  thing  that  either 
side  wanted.  Both  wanted  favors  at  the  expense 
of  the  other  party. 

Roosevelt's  first  great  action  against  the  intrenched 
forces  of  capital  was  taken  against  the  Northern 
Securities  Company,  a  merger  of  five  great  railways 
in  the  Northwest.  The  merger  had  been  formed  in 
good  faith  on  the  basis  of  a  decision  made  by  the 

238 


A   NEW   ERA 


Supreme  Court  in  a  case  involving  the  Sugar  Trust. 
Roosevelt  believed  the  decision  unwarranted.  He 
knew,  moreover,  that  if  it  were  allowed  to  stand  as 
a  precedent,  the  hands  of  the  government  would  be 
forever  tied  in  its  dealings  with  the  trusts.  He 
ordered  the  Attorney-General  to  bring  suit  against 
the  Northern  Se- 
curities Company 
for  dissolution. 

The  "interests" 
protested  wildly. 
They  knew  what 
vital  matters  were 
at  stake.  Roose- 
velt himself  knew 
that  on  the  deci- 
sion of  the  court 
depended  the  ques- 
tion whether  or 
not  the  govern- 
ment had  power 
to  deal  with  the 
great  corpora- 
tions.     The    case 

went    its    leisurely    way;     the    President    and    the 
country  waited. 

Meanwhile,  a  new  spirit  was  invading  the  official 
world  of  Washington.  Men  going  to  the  Capital 
with  ideas  in  their  heads  no  longer  wandered  from 
department  to  department,  hunting  in  vain  for  some 
one  to  take  them  seriously.  '  They  went  straight  to 
the  White  House,  certain  to  find  a  welcome  there. 

239 


TAKING  THE  BULL  BY  THE  HORNS 

(From  the  Minneapolis  Journal) 


THEODORE    ROOSEVELT 

The  President  was  a  busy  man,  conferring  with 
Senators  and  Congressmen,  dictating  messages  and 
speeches  and  letters  by  the  hundred,  receiving  depu- 
tations by  the  dozen,  entertaining  men  from  the 
four  corners  of  the  earth,  a  prince  from  Germany 
and  a  negro  from  Alabama,  riding,  boxing,  playing 
tennis,  unveiling  a  monument  here,  opening  an  ex- 
position there,  reading  novels,  history,  poetry,  and 
scientific  treatises  on  the  side,  romping  jubilantly 
with  his  children  down  the  dignified  corridors  of 
the  White  House  or  up  the  crags  of  Rock  Creek  Park, 
fighting  always  at  the  drop  of  the  hat  for  a  good 
cause. 

Presidents  in  the  past  had  all  too  often  been 
slightly  animated  statues.  The  new  President  was 
a  throbbing  machine.  He  was  a  tireless  worker, 
because  by  nature  he  loved  work.  He  reached  out 
for  information  in  a  thousand  directions ;  he  poured 
out  his  gospel  with  unabating  ardor. 

The  Oldest  Inhabitant  declared  that  no  President 
had  ever  flung  himself  with  so  much  energy  and 
enthusiasm  into  so  many  divergent  activities;  yet, 
nevertheless,  he  was  accessible  at  all  times  to  friends 
and  opponents  alike.  Cabinet  officers,  ambassadors, 
admirals,  generals,  and  travelers  from  afar  dropped 
in  at  the  White  House,  confident  that  the  President 
would  have  time  for  a  word  and  a  handshake;  and 
Otto  Raphael,  police  sergeant  in  New  York,  and 
Seth  Bullock,  marshal  in  South  Dakota,  rang  the 
bell  without  waiting  for  an  invitation,  knowing  that 
"the  Colonel"  would  turn  his  back  on  princes  and 
potentates  with  a  cheer,  to  ask  them  about  the  wife 

240 


Now,  Mr.  Railroadman,  stock 
watering  must  stop — 


Rates  are  too  high- 


They  must  come  down —  Safety  must  be  guaranteed — 


I  hope  I  impress  my  meaning  Good  day!" 

on  you — 

RAILROAD  LEGISLATION 

(From  Collier's  Weekly) 


16 


THEODORE    ROOSEVELT 

and  the  babies.     Representatives  of  capital  came, 
and  representatives  of  labor  came. 

"At  last,"  said  one  of  the  "labor  men"  at  luncheon 
one  day,  "there  is  a  hearing  for  us  fellows." 

"Yes!"  cried  the  President,  emphatically.  "The 
White  House  door,  while  I  am  here,  shall  swing 
open  as  easily  for  the  labor  man  as  for  the  capitalist 
— and  no  easier." 

White  men  and  black  men,  educated  men  and 
men  with  no  education  at  all,  rich  men  and  poor 
men,  men  of  every  religion  and  men  of  none,  were 
welcomed  by  the  new  President,  not  from  any  sense 
of  duty,  but  from  an  inveterate  hunger  for  under- 
standing. To  him  every  man  who  crossed  his  line 
of  vision  was  important.  He  sought  to  learn  from 
them  all,  from  one  a  new  point  of  view,  from  another 
a  new  method  of  approach,  from  a  third,  perhaps, 
the  psychology  of  some  dangerous  prejudice  which 
only  clear  vision  and  sympathy  could  overcome. 

He  made  himself  accessible  to  the  thoughts  and 
feelings  of  every  section  of  the  American  people; 
in  countless  ways  he  endeavored  to  find  out  their 
reaction  to  the  problems  of  the  time.  Then,  with 
a  clear  understanding  of  their  needs  and  their  prej- 
udices, he  led  them  not  where  they,  in  their  lethargy 
or  their  blindness  to  the  true  issues,  desired  to  go, 
but  where  he,  standing  on  the  vantage-point  of  the 
Presidency,  saw  that  they  ought  to  go. 

He  knew  the  compelling  power  of  the  line  of  least 
resistance.  He  knew  men's  natural  tendency  to 
seek  the  easiest  grade,  and,  being  a  good  leader, 
he  inspired  the  people  with  a  desire  to  climb. 

242 


A    NEW    ERA 

The  nation  felt  the  new  impulse  before  Roosevelt 
had  been  half  a  year  in  office.  Under  its  spell  a  new 
type  of  public  servant  began  to  appear  here  and 
there,  a  type  vastly  removed  from  the  hard  and 
callous  politician  to  whom  Washington  was  accus- 
tomed. They  were  men  who  wanted  neither  money 
nor  personal  honor,  but  only  the  opportunity  to 
serve ;  men  of  vision  who  realized  that  fate  had  sud- 
denly thrust  upon  the  country  a  man  not  only  of 
power,  but  of  constructive  imagination. 

Two  such  men  called  on  him  the  day  he  arrived 
in  Washington  after  the  funeral  of  President  McKin- 
ley.  He  had  not  yet  taken  up  his  residence  at  the 
White  House,  and  they  went  to  the  house  of  his 
brother-in-law,  Captain  Cowles,  where  he  was  stay- 
ing, to  lay  before  him  their  plans  for  the  reclama- 
tion and  irrigation  of  the  arid  lands  of  the  Southwest 
and  the  consolidation  of  the  forest  work  of  the 
government  in  the  Forestry  Bureau.  The  men  were 
Frederick  Hayes  Newell  and  Giflord  Pinchot. 

Roosevelt  had  since  the  ranch  days  been  a  warm 
believer  in  reclamation,  and  immediately  asked  them 
to  prepare  material  on  the  subject  for  use  in  his  forth- 
coming Message.     They  did  so. 

"The  forest  and  water  problems,"  he  declared  in 
that  Message,  "are  perhaps  the  most  vital  problems 
of  the  United  States." 

On  the  day  the  Message  was  read  a  committee 
was  organized  in  Congress  to  prepare  a  Reclamation 
bill.  A  bill  was  drawn  up.  Roosevelt  worked  over 
it,  revised  it,  fought  for  it  against  the  forces  of 
privilege  who  saw  their  interests  threatened.     Before 

243 


THEODORE    ROOSEVELT 

he  had  been  President  nine  months  the  bill  was 
passed. 

One  of  the  greatest  movements  of  the  time,  under 
the  spur  of  his  enthusiasm  and  determination,  had 
developed  in  less  than  a  year  from  a  vague  dream 
into  a  living  and  moving  actuality. 

Congress  had  passed  the  Reclamation  bill  not 
without  a  struggle,  for  the  men  who  were  willing  to 
sacrifice  public  to  private  interest  were  strong;  but 
still,  Congress  had  passed  it,  not  realizing  fully  the 
far-reaching  effect  of  the  movement  of  which  it 
marked  the  beginning.  On  the  control  of  corpora- 
tions, however,  Congress  stood  firm.  Roosevelt 
asked  that  they  be  legalized  under  restraint  such 
as  the  Interstate  Commerce  Commission  already 
exercised  over  the  railroads. 

Congress  turned  a  deaf  ear.  It  refused  to  create 
the  Department  of  Commerce  and  Labor;  it  rejected 
reciprocity  with  Cuba. 

The  President  was  not  the  man  lightly  to  accept 
defeat.  He  went  over  the  head  of  Congress  to  the 
people.  He  traveled  hither  and  thither,  making 
clear  his  attitude  on  the  great  questions  of  the  day, 
especially  "big  business  "  and  its  regulation.  Every- 
where, enormous  crowds  gathered  to  hear  him. 
Radicals  and  conservatives  alike  saw  in  his  views, 
but  most  of  all  in  his  attitude  of  mind,  a  hope  for 
trie  solution  of  the  vexing  problem.  The  "common 
people"  greeted  him  as  their  champion. 

"Under  the  old  regime,"  said  an  admirer  at  the 
time,  "the  people  got  the  impression  that  it  was 
useless  to  fight  against  the  influence  of  corporations 

244 


A   NEW   ERA 

and  machine  politics,  but  Roosevelt  gave  them  back 
their  hope  and  made  them  think  that  a  fight  was 
indeed  worth  while." 

In  April  he  was  at  Charleston,  in  June  at  Pitts- 
burg, in  August  and  early  September  in  New  Eng- 
land (escaping  death  by  a  miracle  at  Pittsfield  in 
a  crash  with  a  trolley-car  that  smashed  his  carriage, 
flung  him  on  his  face  by  the  roadside,  and  killed  the 
Secret  Service  guard  on  the  box) ;  three  days  later 
he  was  in  West  Virginia,  then  in  Ohio,  in  Tennessee, 
in  Indiana;  then  home  again  at  the  White  House 
because  of  an  abscess  in  his  leg  due  to  the  Pittsfield 
accident,  going  through  the  busy  round  of  his 
activities  on  crutches,  and,  in  a  new  Message, 
reiterating  his  demands  on  Congress  with  the  con- 
fidence that  he  had  the  people  behind  him.  Less 
than  a  week  later,  with  his  bandaged  leg  on  a 
chair,  he  was  moving  to  end  the  greatest  strike 
in  history. 

Early  in  the  spring  the  workers  in  the  anthracite 
coal-mines  in  Pennsylvania,  under  the  leadership 
of  John  Mitchell,  president  of  the  United  Mine 
Workers  of  America,  had  struck  for  higher  wages, 
and  during  the  succeeding  months  practically  no 
coal  whatever  had  been  mined.  The  miners  and 
the  operators  became  deeply  embittered,  and  be- 
tween them  the  public  stood  helpless.  Coal  rose  in 
September  to  twenty-five  dollars  a  ton.  Unless 
coal  should  be  promptly  available  a  frightful  calam- 
ity threatened  the  country,  as  terrible,  Roosevelt 
knew,  as  an  invasion  of  a  hostile  army  of  over- 
whelming force. 

245 


THEODORE    ROOSEVELT 

Coal  was  a  necessity  of  life,  and  he  could,  as  he 
wrote  Mrs.  Cowles,  "no  more  see  misery  and  death 
come  to  the  great  masses  of  the  people  in  our  large 
cities  and  sit  by  idly  because  under  ordinary  con- 
ditions a  strike  is  not  a  subject  for  interference  by 
the  President,"  than  he  "could  sit  by  idly  and  see 
one  man  kill  another  without  interference  because 
there  is  no  statutory  duty  imposed  on  the  President 
to  interfere  in  such  cases." 

Toward  the  end  of  September  he  communicated 
with  the  operators  and  with  the  miners,  asking  them 
to  agree  to  the  appointment  of  a  commission  of 
arbitration  and  to  promise  to  accept  its  findings,  the 
miners  to  go  to  work  as  soon  as  the  commission  was 
appointed,  at  the  old  rate  of  wages. 

The  miners  agreed,  but  the  operators  flatly  re- 
fused. 

Thereupon,  on  October  ist,  the  President  invited 
the  operators  and  representatives  of  the  miners  to 
the  White  House  for  a  conference.  Two  days  later 
the  conference  was  held.  Mitchell,  speaking  for  the 
miners,  repeated  their  acceptance  of  the  President's 
proposal;  but  the  operators  were  stubborn.  They 
said  that  they  would  far  rather  die  of  cold  than 
yield  on  such  a  high  principle  as  recognizing  arbitra- 
tion with  the  striking  miners. 

The  trouble  with  the  excellent  gentlemen  was  [wrote  Roose- 
velt to  his  sister  two  weeks  later]  that  they  were  not  in  danger 
of  dying  of  cold.  They  would  pay  extra  for  their  coal  and 
would  get  insufficient  quantities  and  would  suffer  discomfort, 
but  the  poorer  people  around  about  them  would  and  could  get 
no  coal,  and  with  them  it  would  not  be  discomfort,  but  acute 

246 


Copyright  by  Harris  &  Ewing 

THEODORE    ROOSEVELT   AS   PRESIDENT 


A    NEW    ERA 

misery  and  loss  of  life.  In  other  words,  those  people  really 
meant  that  they  would  rather  somebody  else  should  die  of  cold 
than  that  they  should  yield.    Such  a  position  was  impossible. 

The  conference  broke  up  without  result.  The 
operators  exultantly  announced  that  they  had 
"turned  down"  not  only  the  miners,  but  the 
President. 

'Roosevelt  refused  to  accept  the  rebuff,  for  he 
recognized  that  he  had  not  only  justice  and  right 
on  his  side,  but  also  the  majority  of  the  American 
people.  From  here,  there,  and  everywhere  came 
expressions  of  hearty  support  of  his  action  and  rage 
at  his  adversaries.  The  country  was  losing  patience. 
In  endless  conferences  with  representatives  of  the 
operators  he  tried  in  vain  to  make  clear  to  them 
that,  in  their  own  interest,  they  must  yield  or  be 
completely  overwhelmed. 

In  his  first  Message  he  had  said,  "The  American 
people  are  slow  to  wrath,  but  when  their  wrath  is 
once  kindled  it  burns  like  a  consuming  flame." 

Roosevelt  saw,  what  the  operators  refused  to  see, 
that  in  a  winter  of  coal  famine  lay  the  menace  of 
revolution. 

Day  in,  day  out,  he  worked  for  an  agreement. 

"May  Heaven  preserve  me,"  he  exclaimed  in  a 
letter  to  his  sister  at  that  time,  "from  ever  again 
dealing  with  so  wooden-headed  a  set,  when  I  wish 
to  preserve  their  interests!" 

At  last,  after  two  weeks,  the  operators,  seeing 
dimly  the  writing  on  the  wall,  yielded,  agreeing  to 
arbitrate. 

"Yes,  we  have  put  it  through,"  wrote  the  Presi- 
247 


THEODORE    ROOSEVELT 

dent  to  Governor  Crane  of  Massachusetts.     "But, 
heavens  and  earth!   it  has  been  a  struggle." 

Roosevelt  did  not  tell  the  operators  until  long 
after  that  if  they  had  not  voluntarily  yielded  he 
would  have  taken  action  which  they  would  have 
long  remembered.  His  plans  for  the  emergency 
were  complete.     Major- General  Schofield,  supported 


ROOSEVELT  S   BIGGEST   GAME 
(From  the  New  York  Herald) 


by  United  States  troops,  would  have  taken  over  and 
operated  the  mines  as  a  receiver  while  Grover  Cleve- 
land and  a  special  commission  arbitrated  the  miners' 
claims. 

The  President  had  made  up  his  mind  that  the 
American  people  were  not  to  be  without  coal. 

Roosevelt  brought  the  coal  strike  to  an  end  the 
middle  of  October.  A  month  later  he  was  hunting 
bears    (unsuccessfully)    in    Mississippi.     A    month 

248 


A   NEW    ERA 

later,  again,  he  came  suddenly  face  to  face  with  Ger- 
many and  the  prospect  of  war. 

The  crisis  arose  over  the  same  troublesome  nation 
which  had  come  so  near  to  precipitating  war  between 
the  United  States  and  England  in  1895.  Venezuela 
was  now  under  the  dictatorship  of  a  shrewd  and 
unscrupulous  adventurer  named  Castro,  who,  secure, 
as  he  believed,  in  the  protection  of  the  United  States 
under  the  Monroe  Doctrine,  was  cheerfully  defying 
half  of  Europe.  Venezuelan  citizens  owed  large 
sums  of  money  to  Germany,  England,  and  Italy. 
Collection  of  these  debts  proved  difficult.  Castro 
intimated  that  Europe  might  come  and  get  the 
money  if  it  wanted  it. 

Germany,  always  on  the  alert  for  an  opportunity 
to  gain  a  foothold  in  South  America,  as,  a  year  or 
two  previous,  she  had  gained  a  foothold  in  China, 
now  approached  the  governments  of  England  and 
Italy  with  a  view  of  effecting  joint  intervention  to 
protect  the  interests  of  their  citizens  in  Venezuela. 
Both  nations  agreed  to  co-operate,  and  all  sent  gun- 
boats to  blockade  the  Venezuelan  coast.  Castro 
protested  vociferously  to  the  United  States. 

John  Hay,  Secretary  of  State,  answered  that  the 
Monroe  Doctrine  did  not  mean  that  the  United 
States  would  preserve  any  South  American  nation 
from  the  consequences  of  its  own  financial  indis- 
cretions. 

The  so-called  "pacific  blockade"  continued  for 
a  year.  Numerous  neutral  vessels  were  sunk.  Hay 
lodged  an  emphatic  protest  and  urged  arbitration. 

The  allied  nations  refused,  and  on  December  8, 

249 


THEODORE    ROOSEVELT 

1902,  England  and  Germany  broke  off  diplomatic 
relations  with  Venezuela,  intimating  that  the  next 
move  would  be  the  bombardment  of  Venezuelan 
towns  and  the  occupation  of  Venezuelan  territory. 

At  this  point  President  Roosevelt  took  charge  of 
the  negotiations.  He  saw  that  in  the  invasion  of 
a  weak  debtor  state  by  a  naval  or  military  expedi- 
tion lay  a  threat  against  the  Monroe  Doctrine.  He 
advised  the  nations  to  come  to  an  understanding. 

England  and  Italy  expressed  their  willingness  to 
do  so,  but  Germany  refused,  declaring  that  any 
occupation  of  territory  would  be  only  "temporary." 

Roosevelt,  having  notions  of  his  own  about  the 
probability  of  Germany's  relinquishment  of  any 
territory  on  which  she  had  once  planted  her  flag, 
summoned  to  the  White  House  Doctor  von  Holle- 
ben,  the  German  ambassador.  An  American  squad- 
ron, under  Admiral  Dewey,  was  off  the  coast  of 
Cuba,  he  told  him.  Unless  Germany  consented  to 
arbitaate  her  Venezuelan  claims  he  would  order 
Dewey  at  noon,  ten  days  later,  to  proceed  to  the 
Venezuelan  coast  and  prevent,  by  force  of  arms,  if 
necessary,  the  landing  of  a  German  expedition. 

The  ambassador — whom  Hay  had  described  as  a 
man  "absolutely  without  initiative  and  in  mortal 
terror  of  his  Kaiser" — protested  that  the  Emperor 
had  refused  to  arbitrate  and  could  not  change  his 
mind  now. 

"I  am  not  arguing  the  question,"  answered  the 
President.  "The  arguments  have  all  been  gone 
over  and  no  useful  purpose  is  served  in  repeat- 
ing  them.     I   am   merely   giving  you   information 

250 


A   NEW   ERA 

which  you  may  consider  important  to  transmit  to 
Berlin." 

The  ambassador  was  suave.  Of  course,  he  would 
transmit  the  information,  he  said,  though  he  knew 
what  the  answer  would  be.  It  was  evident  that  he 
was  not  perturbed.  He  thought  he  knew  the  great 
American  game  of  bluff. 

A  week  later  he  called  again  on  the  President. 
He  talked  on  various  matters.  The  one  matter, 
however,  that  he  did  not  touch  on  at  all  was  Vene- 
zuela. 

When  he  rose  to  go  Roosevelt  asked  him  bluntly 
what  answer  he  had  received  from  his  government. 

Von  Holleben  was  light-hearted  about  the  matter. 
"You  did  not  expect  me  to  take  your  statement 
seriously?"  he  remarked.  His  government,  he  said, 
had  not  communicated  with  him. 

The  President  snapped  his  teeth  together,  "Very 
good,"  he  said.  "I  shall  instruct  Admiral  Dewey 
to  sail  not  in  three  days,  but  in  two." 

The  ambassador  was  thunderstruck.  His  whole 
manner  changed.  He  knew  at  last  that  he  had 
made  the  most  fatal  mistake  a  diplomat  can  make — 
he  had  miscalculated  the  intention  of  his  op- 
ponent. He  protested  that  the  Kaiser  could  not 
give  in. 

"Do  you  realize,"  he  cried,  in  extreme  agitation, 
"that  this  means  war?" 

"It  means  war,"  answered  Roosevelt,  "if  Germany 
tries  to  land  troops  in  Venezuela.  But  not  a  stroke 
of  a  pen  has  been  put  on  paper.  If  the  Emperor 
will  agree  to  arbitrate,  I  will  heartily  praise  him 

251 


THEODORE    ROOSEVELT 

for  it  and  treat  it  as  taken  on  German  initiative. 
But  I  must  have  an  offer  to  arbitrate  in  forty-eight 
hours,  or  Dewey  sails." 

Within  thirty-six  hours  the  ambassador  returned 
to  the  White  House,  wreathed  in  smiles.  A  despatch 
had  just  come  from  Berlin,  he  said,  saying  that  the 
Kaiser  would  arbitrate. 

Roosevelt  did  as  he  promised  and  commended  the 
Kaiser  publicly  for  being  so  stanch  a  friend  of  ar- 
bitration. Holleben  was  almost  immediately  re- 
called by  his  government.  The  affair  evidently 
rankled  in  the  Emperor's  mind.  But  his  attentions 
to  America  and  Americans  increased  in  fervor. 
From  the  Venezuelan  affair  dated  his  almost  ro- 
mantic devotion  to  Theodore  Roosevelt.  The  Presi- 
dent had  spoken  in  the  only  way  William  the  Second 
understood;  and  in  his  curious,  medieval  heart  the 
Emperor  loved  Roosevelt  for  the  very  qualities 
which  had  revealed  him  as  his  master. 

Two  weeks  after  the  settlement  of  the  Venezuelan 
affair  in  January,  1903,  another  international  con- 
troversy which  had  for  years  been  dragging  its  way 
up  and  down  the  corridors  of  diplomacy  came  be- 
fore Roosevelt  for  action. 

Like  the  Venezuelan  imbroglio,  this  affair  also  in- 
volved England.  After  her  initial  mistake  in  ally- 
ing herself  with  Germany  in  the  so-called  "peaceful 
blockade"  of  the  Venezuelan  coast,  the  British 
government  had,  in  response  to  public  sentiment  in 
England,  behaved  extremely  well.  In  this  other 
controversy,  also,  England  showed  her  evident  de- 

252 


A   NEW    ERA 

sire  to  keep  or;  terms  of  close  friendliness  with  the 
United  States. 

The  affair  dealt  with  Alaska,  whose  eastern 
boundary  along  the  strip  above  the  540  40'  line  had 
been  a  matter  of  dispute  for  generations.  After 
endless  delays,  negotiations  were  reopened  in  Jan- 
uary, 1903,  for  the  settlement  of  the  matter  by  a 
commission  of  three  Americans  and  three  Britishers. 

Up  to  this  time  Secretary  Hay  had  had  charge 
of  the  discussions.  At  this  point,  however,  Presi- 
dent Roosevelt,  who  thought  Hay's  attitude  inde- 
cisive, if  not  actually  timid,  took  command. 

"The  claim  of  the  Canadians  for  access  to  deep 
water  along  any  part  of  the  Alaska  coast,"  he  wrote 
in  a  note  intended  indirectly  for  the  British  Cabinet, 
"is  just  exactly  as  defensible  as  if  they  should  now 
suddenly  claim  the  island  of  Nantucket." 

He  would  not  arbitrate  the  possession  of  the 
large  sections  of  Alaska  which  the  Canadians  de- 
manded, he  went  on,  but  there  were  minor  ques- 
tions, topographical  trifles,  which  they  might  discuss. 

' '  Go  ahead  and  arbitrate, ' '  he  said.  ' '  But  there  is 
the  map." 

Thereupon,  he  did  two  things.  He  appointed  as 
American  members  of  the  commission  three  of  the 
most  vigorous  "fighting  men"  of  the  time,  Lodge, 
Root,  and  ex-Senator  Turner  of  Washington;  and 
without  ostentation,  but  openly,  for  England  to 
observe,  sent  American  troops  into  the  disputed 
territory. 

Whereupon,  having  done  all  he  could,  for  the 
moment,  to  secure  the  rights  of  the  American  people 

253 


THEODORE    ROOSEVELT 

abroad,  he  turned  his  attention  once  more  to  secur- 
ing their  rights  at  home. 

Congress,  which  had  been  stiff-necked  during  the 
previous  session,  had  during  the  recess  heard  from 
the  folks  at  home,  and  scrambled  to  pass  the  bills 
it  had  haughtily  rejected.  The  President  appointed 
Cortelyou,  the  private  secretary  he  had  inherited 
from  McKinley,  Secretary  of  Commerce  and  Labor, 
and  set  the  new  Bureau  of  Corporations  to  work 


HIS  FAVORITE    AUTHOR 

(From  the  Chicago  Chronicle) 

254 


A    NEW    ERA 

gathering  material  to  form  the  basis  of  new  legisla- 
tion. Roosevelt  was  eager  to  secure  the  creation 
of  a  Federal  commission  "to  prevent  monopoly,  if 
possible,  and  uproot  it  when  discovered,"  to  "con- 
trol and  regulate  all  big  combinations,"  and  to  "give 
honest  business  certainty  as  to  what  the  law  was 
and  security  as  long  as  the  law  was  obeyed." 

Congress  balked,  but,  under  the  spur  of  the 
President,  passed  a  law  forbidding  the  railroads  to 
grant  rebates  to  favored  customers.  The  Attorney- 
General  had,  at  the  President's  order,  brought  suits, 
meanwhile,  against  fourteen  railroads  in  the  West 
and  numerous  roads  in  the  South  for  violation  of  the 
Anti-Trust  law  and  the  law  relating  to  interstate 
commerce. 

Wall  Street,  led  by  the  Standard  Oil  Company, 
protested  wildly  that  the  President  was  a  radical 
who  would  overthrow  the  Constitution.  Roosevelt 
replied  that  the  Constitution  was  elastic  enough  to 
be  made  to  cover  the  new  needs  of  the  people  under 
changing  conditions.  If  it  was  not  strong  enough 
to  deal  with  the  new  problems,  he  asked  that  it  be 
strengthened. 

But  Roosevelt's  interference  in  the  coal  strike  had 
angered  some  and  sincerely  disquieted  others  among 
the  believers  in  the  supreme  sanctity  of  private 
property.  This  feeling  of  opposition  was  strength- 
ened by  the  announcement  in  April  of  the  decision 
of  the  United  States  Circuit  Court,  ordering  the  dis- 
solution of  the  Northern  Securities  Company.  The 
case  was  appealed,  but  the  court's  decision  fore- 
shadowed what  the  final  verdict  would  probably  be; 

255 


THEODORE    ROOSEVELT 

and  Wall  Street  was  up  in  arms,  with  a  curious  lack 
of  logic  blaming  Roosevelt  instead  of  the  court 
which  had  rendered  the  decision. 

Roosevelt's  prestige  with  the  people  grew  as  the 
opposition  of  the  forces  of  privilege  became  evident. 
In  the  spring  the  "promotion  mania"  which  had 
seized  the  country  in  1901  began  to  show  its  effects. 
Stocks  which  had  been  sold  at  a  high  figure,  though 
they  represented  no  actual,  tangible  property,  be- 
gan rapidly  to  decline.  Newspapers  controlled  by 
the  business  interests  complained  that  the  shrink- 
age in  values  was  due  alone  to  the  President's  un- 
necessary agitation. 

Roosevelt  could  afford  to  smile  at  the  sullen 
growls  of  the  "interests,"  for  during  that  spring  of 
1903  he  had  an  opportunity  to  discover  how  firm 
a  place  he  had  made  for  himself  in  the  affections  of 
the  American  people.  Late  in  March  he  began  a 
tour  through  the  country  which  took  him  to  the 
Pacific.  His  purpose  was  obvious.  He  had  had 
difficulties  with  Congress;  he  foresaw  that  worse 
difficulties  lay  ahead.  His  only  hope  of  success  lay 
in  appealing  directly  to  the  people,  for  he  had  learned 
long  ago  that  the  people  were  always  quicker  to 
appreciate  new  ideas  than  their  representatives  in 
Congress.  His  friends  had  suggested  that  he  should 
coerce  his  opponents  in  Congress  by  withholding 
patronage.  He  replied  that,  if  coercion  had  to  be 
used,  he  preferred  that  not  he,  but  the  constituents 
of  the  stubborn  Congressmen,  should  exercise  it. 

Day  after  day,  again  and  again,  in  great  halls  to 
thousands  of  his  fellow-citizens  and  at  water-tank 

256 


A    NEW    ERA 

stations  to  a  handful,  he  expounded  the  policies  of 
his  Administration.  He  spoke  of  the  Monroe  Doc- 
trine; of  the  need  of  building  up  the  navy;  of  cor- 
porations and  their  control;  of  the  army  and  the 
General  Staff,  newly  created;  of  reclamation,  con- 
servation, public  service;  and  over  and  over  again 
of  the  pioneer  virtues,  the  heroic  virtues  of  courage 
and  hardihood;  the  need  for  fellowship,  for,  "in  the 
long  run,  and  as  a  whole,  we  are  going  to  go  up  or 
go  down  together";  the  need  for  individual  con- 
secration, for  "it  lies  with  us  ourselves  to  determine 
our  own  fate." 

He  was  greeted  everywhere  with  extraordinary 
enthusiasm,  for,  more  than  any  of  his  predecessors, 
he  seemed  to  the  people,  with  his  aggressive,  mili- 
tant and  fearless  spirit,  to  typify  America.  The 
very  qualities  which  the  more  serious-minded  folk 
in  the  East  criticized,  his  occasional  loudness  of 
action  or  utterance,  his  undisguised  delight  in  driv- 
ing the  "band-wagon,"  his  familiarity  with  all  sorts 
of  men,  his  lack  of  Presidential  pomposity,  endeared 
him  to  the  Western  folk.  The  words  he  spoke  were 
simple  words  which  they  could  all  understand,  and 
the  matters  he  talked  about  were  the  matters  which 
were  closest  to  their  own  hearts.  Their  own  fore- 
bodings and  aspirations  for  the  first  time  became 
intelligible  to  them  through  his  words.  He  crystal- 
lized their  cloudy  musings. 

It  was  natural  that,  giving  utterance  as  he  did 
to  the  best  that  was  in  their  hearts,  he  should  strike 
there  a  spark  of  that  high  spirit  of  national  service 
which  burned  so  fiercely  in  his  own  being.     Under 

17  257 


THEODORE    ROOSEVELT 

his  spell  men  rediscovered  their  country  and  took 
pride  in  her  and  came  to  feel  a  personal  responsibility 
for  her  welfare  and  honor.  He  made  them  desire, 
not  safety,  but  the  doing  of  difficult  things.  He 
made  them  want  to  do  their  duty.  He  made  them 
ashamed  not  to  want  to  do  their  duty.  He  stung 
their  consciences  to  life. 

Roosevelt  spoke  at  Chicago,  Milwaukee,  St.  Paul, 
Sioux  Falls,  Fargo.  At  Medora  he  stopped  to  see 
old  friends.  The  Ferrises  were  there,  but  Hell- 
roaring  Bill  Jones  had  begun  celebrating  too  early 
and  was  "all  in."  The  wild  and  fantastic  land- 
scape made  his  eyes  wistful  as  the  train  sped  on. 

"I  know  all  this  country  like  a  book,"  he  said  to 
John  Burroughs,  who  was  at  his  side.  "I  have  rid- 
den over  it  in  all  seasons  and  all  weathers,  and  it 
looks  like  home  to  me." 

At  Gardiner,  Montana,  at  the  entrance  to  Yellow- 
stone Park,  he  left  the  world  of  politics  and  speeches 
and  reporters  and  Secret  Service  men  behind  and 
with  John  Burroughs,  and  a  squad  of  the  park  guards 
for  escort,  gave  himself  up  to  solitude  and  the 
wilderness. 

For  two  weeks  he  roamed  through  the  park,  now 
on  snow-shoes  or  skees,  laughing  boisterously  when 
he  took  a  header  in  the  deep  snow;  now  on  foot, 
crawling  stealthily  after  a  flock  of  mountain-sheep 
to  spy  on  them  for  hours  from  some  covert,  or  fol- 
lowing a  strange  bird  from  glade  to  glade  until  he 
had  identified  his  song;  now  on  horseback,  dashing 
after  a  herd  of  elk,  delighted  as  a  boy,  when  he 
rounded  them  up  for  his  naturalist-companion  to 

258 


A    NEW    ERA 

see.  Shooting  in  the  park  was  forbidden  and  he 
did  no  hunting,  but  he  pursued  the  deer  and  the 
agile  antelope  with  a  zest  that  knew  no  weariness. 

A  brief  trip  through  the  Grand  Canon  of  the 
Colorado,  then  three  days  in  the  Yosemite  with  an- 
other naturalist,  John  Muir. 

The  first  night  was  clear  [he  wrote  later]  and  we  lay  in 
the  open,  in  beds  of  soft  fir  boughs,  among  the  huge  cinna- 
mon-colored trunks  of  the  sequoias.  It  was  like  lying  in  a 
great  solemn  cathedral,  far  vaster  and  more  beautiful  than 
any  built  by  the  hand  of  man.  Just  at  nightfall  I  heard, 
among  other  birds,  thrushes  which  I  think  were  Rocky  Moun- 
tain hermits — the  appropriate  choir  for  such  a  place  of  worship. 
Next  day  we  went  by  trail  through  the  woods,  seeing  some 
deer  .  .  .  mountain-quail  and  blue  grouse  ...  a  white-headed 
woodpecker.  ...  A  snowstorm  came  on  toward  evening,  but 
we  kept  warm  and  comfortable  in  a  grove  of  splendid  firs  near 
the  brink  of  the  wonderful  Yosemite  Valley.  Next  day  we 
clambered  down  into  it  and  at  nightfall  camped  in  its  bottom, 
facing  the  giant  cliffs  over  which  the  waterfall  thundered. 

He  emerged  from  the  wilderness  to  take  up  his 
Paul  Revere-like  passage  from  coast  to  coast.  His 
audiences,  cheering  wildly  the  strenuous  fighter  for 
equal  justice,  never  dreamed  that  less  than  a  day 
before  he  had  been  listening  to  bird-songs  as  though 
there  were  nothing  else  in  the  world. 


CHAPTER  XV 

HE    ESTABLISHES    HIMSELF    AND    HIS    COUNTRY    AS    A 
WORLD   POWER 

THE  President  returned  to  Washington  early  in 
June  and  plunged  once  more  into  the  turmoil 
of  his  administrative  duties.  Corruption  had  been 
brought  to  light  in  the  Post  Office  Department,  and 
the  Postmaster-General,  though  eager  to  end  it,  was 
nervous  about  the  effect  the  exposure  might  have 
on  the  fortunes  of  the  Republican  party.  Roosevelt 
insisted  on  absolute  publicity  and  relentless  justice 
wherever  the  trail  might  lead.  The  trail  happened 
to  lead  to  high  quarters.  Politicians  appealed  fran- 
tically to  Roosevelt  to  keep  the  scandals  quiet.  The 
President  made  it  clear  that  if  he  were  going  to 
preach  clean  government  he  would  have  a  clean 
house  of  his  own. 

Affairs  at  home  and  abroad  alternately  demanded 
his  attention.  Not  only  in  the  Post  Office  Depart- 
ment was  corruption  revealed.  He  discovered  that 
frauds  on  a  huge  scale  had  been  practised  in  the  dis- 
tribution of  public  lands  and  in  the  execution  of  the 
immigration  laws,  and  set  the  wheels  of  justice 
moving. 

260 


A    WORLD    POWER 

Meanwhile,  early  in  July,  a  report  reached  him 
that  the  American  vice-consul  at  Beirut,  Turkey,  had 
been  murdered.  Instantly,  he  sent  a  squadron  to 
the  scene  of  the  supposed  crime,  to  support  the 
American  minister  in  his  demand  for  satisfaction. 
Europe  gasped  and  timid  folk  in  America  shuddered. 
The  consul,  as  it  turned  out,  had  been  attacked,  but 
not  killed.     The  Turkish  government  was  profuse 


HE  LAUGHS  BEST  WHO  LAUGHS  LAST 

The  Democratic  Donkey:  "Ha,  ha!  the  cat  is  out  of 
the  bag." 

The  Strenuous  Republican  Boy:  "Yes,  but  it  will 
soon  be  a  dead  cat." 

(Prom  the   Minneapolis  Journal) 


in  its  expressions  of  regret,  and  suddenly  showed 
a  willingness  to  accede  to  certain  long-standing 
requests  concerning  American  missionaries.  The 
squadron  sailed  away.  No  blood  had  been  shed,  but 
Europe  had  a  new  respect  for  American  citizenship. 
Straightforward,  vigorous,  unafraid  toward  the 
nations  without  and  the  conflicting  groups  within, 
Roosevelt  appeared  to  the  critical  gaze  of  the  Old 

261 


THEODORE    ROOSEVELT 

World  like  some  hero  out  of  legendry,  slashing  with 
his  broadsword  and  ringed  by  the  bodies  of  his 
foes.  He  was  a  storm-center  always.  He  appointed 
a  negro  to  office  in  Charleston,  and  the  South  raged, 
while  Boston  applauded  in  pious  horror  at  narrow- 
minded  Carolina;  he  appointed  a  negro,  thereupon, 
to  office  in  Boston,  and  Boston  fumed,  while  the 
South  shook  in  boisterous  delight.  He  reinstated  in 
a  government  place  a  non-union  man  discharged  at 
the  request  of  a  union,  and  stood  firm  while  labor 
leaders  vociferously  protested ;  he  rebuked  the  heads 
of  corporations  with  stinging  words  and  gritted  his 
teeth  grimly  while  the  ensuing  editorial  tempest 
passed  over  his  head. 

On  the  20th  of  October  the  Alaska  Commission, 
sitting  in  London,  gave  its  verdict  in  favor  of 
America,  the  British  member  having  voted  with 
the  Americans  against  the  two  Canadians  on  every 
important  issue.  The  result  completely  justified 
Roosevelt's  brusque  assertions  in  January. 

Less  than  two  weeks  later  he  was  confronted 
overnight  with  an  international  issue  of  far  greater 
significance. 

For  years  negotiations  had  been  pending  regard- 
ing an  interoceanic  canal  in  Nicaragua  or  Panama. 
The  political  complications  in  the  way  were  huge, 
for  not  only  the  Central  American  republics  of  Colom- 
bia and  Nicaragua,  through  whose  territory  the  canal 
might  run,  were  involved,  but  France  and  England 
likewise ;  for  a  French  company  had  spent  hundreds 
of  millions  in  a  vain  attempt  to  construct  a  canal 
at  Panama,  and  had  on  the  spot  some  forty  million 

262 


He  attends  to  Santo  Ha  hands  Mr.  Castro      He  jumps  on  the  Senate 

Domingo  a  few 


He  writes  on  the  race       He  lands  on  Standard       He  attends  a  banquet 
question  Oil 


fia&Al&g 


He  superintends  the        He  passes  a  hot  message    He  pauses  a  moment  to 
preparations  for  in-  to  the  Senate  make  plans  for  a  hunt- 

auguration  day       ,  ing  trip 

one  of  mr.  Roosevelt's  quiet  days 

(By  McCufccheon,  in  the  Chicago  Daily  Tribune) 


THEODORE    ROOSEVELT 

dollars'  worth  of  concessions  and  machinery  for 
which  it  wanted  three  times  the  value ;  and  England 
had  an  old  treaty  with  the  United  States  for  the 
joint  construction  of  a  canal.  After  years  of  wise 
diplomacy  and  fierce  and  discouraging  struggles  with 
the  Senate,  Secretary  Hay  had  ironed  out  most  of 
the  difficulties.  The  French  company  had  agreed 
to  sell  out  at  $40,000,000;  England  had  consented 
to  abrogate  the  Clayton-Bulwer  treaty.  Congress, 
after  endless  wrangles,  had  eliminated  consideration 
of  the  Nicaragua  route  and  decided  on  a  canal 
through  the  Isthmus  of  Panama. 

Nothing  now  remained  but  to  make  the  necessary 
treaty  with  Colombia. 

But  here  the  real  difficulty  arose,  for  Colombia 
was  in  a  chronic  state  of  revolution,  passing  from 
the  control  of  one  set  of  bandits  only  to  fall  into  the 
hands  of  another. 

' '  You  could  no  more  make  an  agreement  with  the 
Colombian  rulers,"  exclaimed  Roosevelt  later,  "than 
you  could  nail  currant  jelly  to  a  wall — and  the  fail- 
ure to  nail  currant  jelly  to  a  wall  is  not  due  to  the 
nail;    it  is  due  to  the  currant  jelly." 

During  1903  Colombia  was  under  the  dictator- 
ship of  an  adventurer  named  Marroquin,  who,  as 
Vice-President,  had  succeeded  to  the  Presidency  by 
clapping  the  President  into  jail  and  then  announcing 
that  "in  the  absence  of  the  President  he  would 
fulfil  his  constitutional  duties."  Marroquin  and 
his  friends  saw  in  the  desire  of  the  United  States  to 
construct  a  canal  at  Panama  a  dazzling  prospect 
q£  enormous  loot.     Marroquin  proposed  a  treaty 

264 


A    WORLD    POWER 

more  than  favorable  to  Colombia.  Secretary  Hay 
accepted  it  for  the  United  States  and  during  the 
summer  presented  it  to  Colombia  for  ratification. 
But  Marroquin  had  meanwhile  devised  a  scheme 
for  putting  off  the  settlement  of  the  Panama  ques- 
tion until  1904,  when  the  French  concessions  and 
machinery  would  revert  to  Colombia,  and,  instead 
of  ten  millions,  fifty  millions  would  be  due  from  "the 
nation  of  sordid  dollar-chasers"  to  the  north.  Be- 
lieving the  United  States  irrevocably  committed  to 
the  Panama  route,  he  now  repudiated  the  agreement 
he  had  himself  proposed ;  and  under  his  direction  the 
Colombian  Senate  unanimously  rejected  the  treaty. 

The  eyes  of  American  statesmen  now  turned  again 
toward  Nicaragua;  and  Panama,  which  had  more 
than  once  been  an  independent  republic  and  in  the 
past  fifty-three  years  had  suffered  exactly  fifty-three 
revolutions,  began  to  fear  the  canal  would  be  lost 
to  her. 

Early  in  October  Roosevelt  heard  that  a  fifty- 
fourth  revolution  was  imminent  there.  He  shed  no 
tears  over  the  prospect,  but  he  gave  the  rebel  agents 
who  came  to  Washington  no  encouragement.  He 
merely  sent  the  cruiser  Nashville  to  the  general 
neighborhood  to  protect  American  interests  in  Pan- 
ama as  he  had  protected  American  interests  in  Tur- 
key, and  to  keep  open  the  isthmian  railroad,  as  the 
United  States  government  was  by  treaty  bound 
to  do. 

On  November  3d  four  Colombian  generals  landed 
at  Colon  with  four  hundred  and  fifty  men  and  pro- 
ceeded at  once  to  Panama,   giving  orders  for  the 

265 


THEODORE    ROOSEVELT 

soldiers  to  follow.  But  the  railroad  refused  to  trans- 
port the  soldiers,  and  two  of  the  Colombian  gun- 
boats declared  in  favor  of  the  revolutionists.  The 
Nashville  now  landed  marines  to  protect  the  railway 
and  a  day  later  word  came  from  Washington  that 
the  United  States  would  prevent  the  landing  of 
Colombian  troops  within  fifty  miles  of  Panama. 
That  settled  the  matter. 

Two  days  later  the  American  government  recog- 
nized the  Republic  of  Panama,  and  two  weeks 
thereafter  concluded  a  treaty  with  the  new  nation, 
which  was  immediately  ratified.  The  Canal  Zone 
was  secured  to  the  United  States  in  perpetuity. 
By  swift  and  decisive  action  in  the  face  of  a  bandit's 
blackmail,  Roosevelt  had  brought  to  a  successful 
conclusion  the  unavailing  efforts  of  a  century. 

The  American  people  applauded  the  act,  but 
Roosevelt's  old  enemies,  the  "timid  good,"  while 
not  recommending  the  return  of  the  Canal  Zone  to 
Colombia,  protested  loudly  against  the  manner  of 
its  acquisition. 

Roosevelt,  conscious  that  from  a  moral  as  well 
as  a  legal  standpoint  he  had  acted  in  the  only  way 
possible  under  the  circumstances,  defied  his  critics, 
accepting  the  full  responsibility. 

The  people  of  Panama  were  a  unit  in  desiring  the  Canal  and 
in  wishing  to  overthrow  the  rule  of  Colombia  [he  wrote  years 
after  to  William  Roscoe  Thayer].  If  they  had  not  revolted  I 
should  have  recommended  Congress  to  take  possession  of  the 
Isthmus  by  force  of  arms.  ...  I  had  actually  written  the  first 
draft  of  my  message  to  this  effect.  When  they  revolted  I 
promptly  used  the  navy  to  prevent  the  bandits,  who  had  tried 

266 


A   WORLD    POWER 

to  hold  us  up,  from  spending  months  of  futile  bloodshed  in 
conquering  or  endeavoring  to  conquer  the  Isthmus,  to  the 
lasting  damage  of  the  Isthmus,  of  us,  and  of  the  world.  I  did 
not  consult  Hay,  or  Root,  or  any  one  else  as  to  what  I  did, 
because  a  council  of  war  does  not  fight,  and  I  intended  to  do  the 
job  once  and  for  all. 

The  controversy  continued  to  rage.     But  while  the 
talking  went  on  the  President  set  about  to  make 


DIGGING   THE   CANAL 
(From  the  New  York  Herald) 

the  Canal  Zone  a  sanitary  place  to  live  in,  appointed 
a  committee  of  engineers  to  decide  on  the  type  of 
canal  to  be  constructed,  and  started  Congress  on 
the  long  wrangle  he  knew  it  would  insist  on  having 
before  the  work  could  start. 

For  Congress,  in  those  first  months  of  1904,  was 
267 


THEODORE    ROOSEVELT 

beginning  to  try  his  patience.  It  blocked  him  at 
every  turn;  it  seemed,  indeed,  to  take  a  peculiar 
delight  in  blocking  him.  Congress  was  conserva- 
tive. Congress  believed  firmly  in  the  sacredness  of 
big  business,  being  less  enlightened  on  the  subject 
than  the  people  it  was  supposed  to  represent.  A 
special  session,  called  to  ratify  the  Cuban  reciprocity 
treaty,  spent  its  energies  in  petty  quarrels. 

The  national  election  now  began  to  absorb  the 
whole  interest  of  the  country.  Santo  Domingo  was 
making  trouble  to  the  South,  Japan  and  Russia  were 
coming  to  death-grips  in  the  Far  East,  but  neither 
struggle  could  compete  in  interest  with  the  Presi- 
dential campaign.  Roosevelt's  nomination  by  the 
Republicans  was  definitely  assured  when  his  only 
possible  rival,  Senator  Hanna,  died  in  February. 
The  convention  met  in  Chicago  in  June  and  was  the 
scene  of  the  wildest  enthusiasm. 

While  the  convention  was  in  session  Roosevelt 
was  involved  in  a  delicate  international  situation 
which  incidentally  involved  all  the  great  Powers  of 
Europe.  An  American  citizen,  Ion  Perdicaris,  had 
been  captured  by  bandits  in  Morocco  under  the 
leadership  of  a  notorious  chieftain  named  Raizuli, 
who  had  succeeded  in  terrorizing  the  Foreign  Offices 
of  most  of  the  Powers.  Roosevelt  demanded  his 
release.  The  Sultan  of  Morocco  made  promises, 
but  Perdicaris  was  not  set  free.  Roosevelt  there- 
upon sent  an  American  war-ship  to  Tangier. 

Again  Europe  gasped,  and  again  the  "timid  good" 
shuddered  and  talked  about  the  swashbuckler  who 
was  throwing  matches  into  the  powder-magazine  of 

268 


A   WORLD    POWER 

Europe.  But  Roosevelt  knew,  what  the  majority 
of  the  American  people  did  not  know,  that  the 
United  States,  having  no  possible  territorial  desires 
in  Morocco,  could  maintain  a  standpoint  there  which 
no  European  nation  could  possibly  take. 

The  Sultan  was  impressed,  but  his  own  position 
in  regard  to  Raizuli  was  none  too  safe.  Raizuli 
threatened  to  kill  Perdicaris  unless  the  ransom  he 
demanded  was  paid.  The  Sultan  made  helpless 
gestures. 

Thereupon,  on  June  2 2d,  through  Secretary  Hay, 
Roosevelt  sent  a  thunderbolt,  "We  want  Perdicaris 
alive  or  Raizuli  dead." 

The  news  of  the  ultimatum  reached  the  conven- 
tion at  Chicago  on  the  morning  on  which  the  nomi- 
nations were  to  be  made,  and  symbolizing,  as  it  did, 
the  President's  attitude  toward  his  opponents  abroad 
and  at  home,  kindled  the  delegates  to  flaming  en- 
thusiasm. He  was  nominated  without  a  dissent- 
ing vote. 

John  Hay's  diary  tells  succinctly  the  effect  of  the 
ultimatum  in  Morocco: 

June  23d. — My  telegram  to  Gummere  [the  American  consul] 
had  an  uncalled-for  success.  It  is  curious  how  a  concise  im- 
propriety hits  the  public. 

June  24th. — Gummere  telegraphs  that  he  expects  Perdicaris 
to-night. 

June  2jth. — Perdicaris  wires  his  thanks. 

The  incident  was  comparatively  slight;  but  it 
had  a  deep  effect  on  the  great  body  of  American 
citizens.     They   began   to  cherish   more   highly   a 

269 


THEODORE    ROOSEVELT 

citizenship  on  which  their  President  set  such  store 
and  to  feel  proudly  conscious  of  their  place  in  the 
world.  Sectional  prejudice  diminished  in  a  new 
pride  in  the  greatness  of  the  whole. 

The  Presidential  campaign  was  unexciting.  To 
most  people  the  result  was  a  foregone  conclusion,  for 
Judge  Parker,  the  Democratic  nominee,  had  neither 
an  inspiring  personality  himself  nor  a  united  and 
enthusiastic  party  behind  him,  while  the  President 
had  both.  Roosevelt  himself,  however,  was  not  at 
all  certain  of  his  election,  for  while  the  capitalists 
accused  him  of  being  a  revolutionist,  certain  New 
York  newspapers,  pretending  to  champion  the  cause 
of  the  people,  were  printing  elaborate  and  completely 
false  stories  showing  how  he  had  secretly  "sold  out" 
to  J.  P.  Morgan.  Roosevelt  underrated  his  own 
popularity.  His  enemies  accused  him  of  overween- 
ing self-confidence,  of  immeasurable  conceit;  and 
the  defiance  he  hurled  at  his  opponents,  great  and 
small,  lent  some  color  to  the  charge.  But  at  heart 
he  was  humble,  with  a  boyish  humility  in  the  pres- 
ence of  great  tasks  of  which  only  his  most  intimate 
friends  suspected  the  existence. 

It  was  that  spring,  Hay  records  in  his  diary,  that 
he  came  on  Roosevelt  one  day  reading  Emerson's 
' '  Days. "    He  read  the  wonderful  closing  lines  aloud : 


"I,  too  late, 
Under  her  solemn  fillet  saw  the  scorn." 


"I  fancy,"  Hay  remarked,  "you  do  not  know  what 
that  means." 

270 


^. ..  ^ 


ys~ 


UNCLE    SAM:     "HE'S   GOOD   ENOUGH   FOR   ME'^ 

(From  the  New  York  Evening  Mail) 


THEODORE    ROOSEVELT 

"Oh,  do  I  not?"  the  President  exclaimed.  "Per- 
haps the  greatest  men  do  not,  but  I  in  my  soul 
know  I  am  but  the  average  man,  and  that  only 
marvelous  good  fortune  has  brought  me  where 
I  am." 

Three  weeks  before  the  election  he  wrote: 

On  Election  night  ...  we  intend  to  have  a  little  feast  which 
can  be  turned  into  a  festival  of  rejoicing  or  into  a  wake,  as 
circumstances  warrant! 

The  feast  was  held  and  was  not  turned  into  a 
wake,  for  Roosevelt  was  elected  by  the  greatest 
majority  any  President  had  ever  received. 

"I  am  glad,"  he  said  to  Hay  that  evening,  "to 
be  President  in  my  own  right." 

The  sense  that  he  was  no  longer  President  by 
accident,  but  President  by  the  overwhelming  desire 
of  his  fellow-citizens,  gave  Roosevelt  at  the  begin- 
ning of  his  second  term  new  confidence  and  vigor 
in  his  dealings  with  Congress.  The  House  reflected 
the  popular  approval  of  the  President  and  sought  to 
co-operate,  but  the  Senate,  under  the  control  of 
Aldrich  of  Rhode  Island  and  Hale  of  Maine,  op- 
posed him  with  increasing  bitterness.  The  majority 
of  the  members  were  either  themselves  rich  men  or 
pliant  tools  of  the  financial  groups  which  had  secured 
their  election.  They  formed  the  bulwark  of  the 
"interests"  and  opposed  Roosevelt  with  savage  bit- 
terness, holding  him  responsible  for  the  social  un- 
rest beginning  to  make  itself  manifest.  When 
Roosevelt  declared  that  all  he  wanted  was  to  give 

272 


A   WORLD    POWER 

justice  to  both  capital  and  labor,  they  refused  to 
believe  what  he  said.  They  accused  him  of  desiring 
to  overturn  American  institutions,  failing  utterly  to 
comprehend  that  the  President  was  seeking  to  con- 
serve those  institutions  by  adapting  them  to  the 
swiftly  changing  conditions. 

They  were,  like  King  Canute,  bellowing  at  the 
oncoming  tide,  and  they  called  Roosevelt  a  revolu- 
tionist because  he  implored  them  to  convert  their 
throne  into  a  raft. 

Roosevelt  saw  vividly  what  he  had  seen  as  far 
back  as  1899,  and  which  they  could  not  even  now 
perceive,  that  the  old  era  of  capital  unrestricted  was 
gone  forever.  He  saw  the  social  forces  seething  all 
over  the  world,  he  saw  the  smoldering  discontent, 
the  growing  consciousness  among  the  masses  that 
the  relations  between  capital  and  labor  were  un- 
evenly balanced  and  unfair.  The  rumblings  of 
social  revolution  in  Europe  were  not  lost  to  him. 
He  was  aware  of  the  sinister  effect  of  the  sinister 
exploitation  of  the  aliens  who  sought  on  these  shores 
a  liberty  which  they  failed  to  find.  He  noted  the 
beginning  of  an  insurgent  movement  in  the  very 
stronghold  of  conservatism,  the  Republican  party. 
The  significance  of  the  election  of  Democratic  so- 
called  "reform"  Governors  in  five  of  the  states 
which  had  given  him  their  electoral  vote  was  not 
lost  to  him.  There  had  been  revolution  in  the  air 
at  the  time  of  the  coal  strike,  in  the  autumn  of  1902. 
The  peril  had  for  the  moment  been  averted,  but  the 
fundamental  causes  remained.  Roosevelt  knew  that 
the  overturn  of  the  existing  order  was  sooner  or 

18  273 


THEODORE    ROOSEVELT 


later  inevitable  unless  the  forces  of  capital  and  the 
forces  of  labor  met  on  the  common  ground  of  gov- 
ernmental regulation  and  control.  And  because  he 
knew  that  such  an  overturn  would  bring  anarchy 
to  the  country  and  misery  to  the  working-man  as 
well  as  to  the  capitalist,  he  sought  with  all  his  ener- 
gies to  prevent  it. 
He  was  assailed 
on  every  side  with 
inconceivable  bit- 
terness. ■  But  he 
was  a  valiant 
fighter  and  the 
people  as  a  whole 
were  with  him, 
though  capitalists 
accused  him 
harshly  of  pan- 
dering to  labor, 
and  labor  leaders 
accused  him  of 
yielding  to  capi- 
tal. He  sought  to  give  justice  to  both  sides  and 
both  sides  accused  him  of  temporizing. 

Roosevelt  was  determined  to  enlarge  the  powers 
of  the  Interstate  Commerce  Commission  over  rail- 
road rates,  and  under  his  direction  the  Hepburn 
Rate  bill  was  introduced.  The  Senate  rejected  it, 
as  it  had  rejected  certain  arbitration  treaties  he  had 
presented  for  ratification,  as  a  persona]  rebuke  and 
in  fear  of  increasing  his  power. 

Roosevelt  once  more  turned  to  the  people.     Dur- 
274 


THE    FIGHT    OF     HIS    LIFE 

(From  the  Brooklyn  Eagle) 


A    WORLD    POWER 

ing  that  spring  of  1905  he  made  another  speech- 
making  tour  through  the  country,  preaching  the  doc- 
trines he  had  always  preached  with  stubborn,  un- 
wearying insistence.  Congress  granted  him  not 
half  of  what  he  asked,  though  a  year  later  it  passed 
the  Hepburn  bill  and  consented  reluctantly  to  in- 
vestigations of  the  Standard  Oil  Company,  the 
American  Tobacco  Company,  and  the  Beef  Trust. 


"next!" 

(From  the  Cleveland  Plain  Dealer) 


Roosevelt  had,  however,  familiarized  the  American 
people,  meanwhile,  with  the  problems  he  was  seek- 
ing to  solve,  and  even  while  he  was  meeting  defeat 
again  and  again  in  Congress  he  was  creating  in  the 
people  a  desire  for  reform.  His  old  genius  for  ad- 
vertising good  causes  had  never  served  the  country 
better.  He  was  not  always  altogether  adroit  as  a 
politician,  and  crafty  Senators,  playing  their  deep 
games,  deliberately  angered  him  to  the  point  of 
fury,  in  order  to  discredit  and  defeat  him.     But 

27S 


THEODORE    ROOSEVELT 

among  the  people  he  was  steadily  successful.  Never 
did  the  fact  that,  as  he  himself  said,  he  was  merely 
an  average  man  with  average  capabilities  developed 
to  the  full,  stand  him  in  better  stead.  Being  an 
average  man,  he  understood  the  average  man.  No 
wall  of  abnormally  acute  intellectuality  stood  be- 
tween them.  Highly  intellectual  folk,  in  those 
days,  took  to  smiling  at  the  President  a  little  patron- 
izingly, calling  him  "platitudinous."  They  recalled 
what  Speaker  Reed  had  said  about  Roosevelt — 
"What  I  admire  most  about  Theodore  is  his  dis- 
covery of  the  Ten  Commandments."  Roosevelt 
grinned  and  admitted  that  it  was  the  common, 
every-day  things  that  interested  him  above  all,  and 
went  on  preaching  the  evangel  of  public  service  and 
business  regulation. 

Everywhere  the  people  responded.  But  the  great 
newspapers,  controlled  by  the  "interests,"  took  to 
calling  him  a  "demagogue." 

His  campaign  for  the  regulation  of  "big  business" 
went  on  steadily,  with  many  setbacks,  but  without 
interruption.  Meanwhile,  he  was  striking  at  the 
irresponsible  power  of  the  few  from  another  angle, 
without  any  great  blaring  of  trumpets,  but  with 
visible  success.  The  Reclamation  bill  had,  by 
judicious  cutting  of  red  tape,  been  put  into  im- 
mediate effect  under  the  direction  of  Newell  and 
Pinchot,  and  by  1906  projects  were  already  under 
way  for  the  irrigation  of  more  than  three  million 
acres.  Parallel  with  this  activity  went  the  move- 
ment, likewise  directed  by  Pinchot,  for  the  pres- 
ervation and  extension  of  the  national  forests,  the 

276 


A   WORLD    POWER 

regulation  and  control  of  water-power,  and  the  pro- 
tection everywhere  of  public  lands  in  the  public 
interests.  The  area  of  the  national  forests  was  in- 
creased from  43  to  194  million  acres,  the  water-power 
resources  of  the  national  forests  put  under  the  con- 
trol of  the  government,  to  prevent  speculation  and 
monopoly,  and  cattle-raisers  grazing  their  herds  on 
the  reserves  were  forced  to  pay  for  what  they  got. 

This  steadily  expanding  policy  incurred  the  wrath 
of  men  who  had  always  regarded  the  natural  re- 
sources of  the  nation  as  the  divinely  appointed  field 
of  private  exploitation.  Unrestricted  enterprise  had 
done  much  to  open  the  Western  country ;  the  country 
was  now  open;  but  the  resources  of  it  were  being 
rapidly  exhausted. 

"The  rights  of  the  public  to  the  natural  resources," 
Roosevelt  contended,  "outweigh  private  rights." 

The  fight  raged  in  Congress,  where  again  and 
again  efforts  were  made  to  abolish  the  Forest  Ser- 
vice. Land  speculators,  gamblers  in  water  rights, 
timber-slashers,  sheep-owners,  coal  barons,  and  the 
politicians,  local  and  national,  who  served  their 
interests,  howled  about  "executive  usurpation." 
Roosevelt  went  on,  not  serenely — for  serenity  was 
never  a  conspicuous  quality  of  his — but  with  the 
dash  and  fire  he  had  shown  on  the  day  of  Las  Guasi- 
mas,  when,  not  knowing  which  way  he  was  supposed 
to  go,  he  had  decided  to  press  on  in  the  direction 
of  the  guns. 

Out  of  the  forest  movement  grew  the  general 
conservation  movement  which  applied  to  the  other 
natural  resources  of  the  nation  the  principle  there 

277 


THEODORE    ROOSEVELT 

laid  down,  that  the  executive  is  the  steward  of  the 
public  welfare.  In  March,  1907,  Roosevelt  created 
the  Inland  Waterways  Commission.  In  October 
he  took  a  trip  down  the  Mississippi  as  guest  of  the 
commission,  skilfully  using  the  dramatic  news-value 
of  the  incidents  of  the  trip  to  call  the  attention  of 
the  country  through  the  newspapers,  day  after  day, 
to  the  question  of  conservation.  He  announced  his 
intention  of  calling  a  conference  on  conservation  at 
the  White  House  the  following  spring.  The  Gov- 
ernors of  all  the  states  were  invited  to  attend  it. 

The  conference  was  held  in  May,  1908.  The  fact 
that  it  was  the  first  national  conference  of  state 
Governors  on  any  subject  attracted  enormous  at- 
tention. Overnight  conservation  became  a  great 
national  issue.  A  National  Conservation  Commis- 
sion was  appointed  to  prepare  an  inventory,  the 
first  ever  made  for  any  nation,  of  all  the  natural 
resources  which  underlay  its  property.  The  in- 
ventory was  completed  in  six  months.  A  Joint 
Conservation  Congress,  meeting  in  December,  sug- 
gested the  holding  of  a  North  American  Conserva- 
tion Conference  to  which  representatives  of  Canada 
and  Mexico  were  invited;  this  conference,  meeting 
in  February,  1909,  recommended  that  all  nations 
should  be  invited  to  join  together  in  conference  on 
the  subject  of  world  resources,  and  their  inventory, 
conservation,  and  wise  utilization.  The  invitation 
was  sent  to  forty-five  nations. 

From  a  conference  of  three  men  in  Captain 
Cowles's  house  in  September,  1901,  a  small  reclama- 
tion project  had,  through  the  vision  and  persistence 

278 


A    WORLD    POWER 


of  Theodore  Roosevelt,  expanded  into  an  inter- 
national movement  for  the  conservation  of  all 
natural  resources. 

Roosevelt's  second  term  was  not  rich  in  legisla- 
tive accomplishment,  for  the  Senate  was  consistently 
hostile,  and  gradually  even  the  House  turned  against 
him,  accusing  him  of 
overweening  ambi- 
tion and  dictatorial 
methods.  '  His  re- 
pute with  the  peo- 
ple, meanwhile,  grew, 
and  his  influence 
with  them  deepened. 
They  exulted,  in  the 
face  of  cynical  Eu- 
rope, that  during 
the  first  year  of 
Roosevelt's  adminis- 
tration the  United 
States  had  kept  her 
promise  to  Cuba  and 
withdrawn  her 
troops;  they  exulted 
that,  amid  the  sordid  orgy  of  the  continental 
Powers  in  China,  the  United  States  had  returned 
for  educational  purposes  in  China  half  of  the  in- 
demnity paid  to  the  United  States  by  China  after 
the  Boxer  outrages.  They  took  pride  in  the  decisive 
action  that  had  won  them  Panama,  and  the  per- 
sistence which,  after  endless  wrangling  and  adminis- 
trative difficulties,  resulted  in  the  beginning  on  a 

279 


Q0^J^s 


NO   MOLLYCODDLING    HERE 

(From  the  New  York  Globe) 


THEODORE    ROOSEVELT 

firm  basis  of  the  construction  of  the  Canal;  they 
respected  themselves  and  their  neighbors  more  be- 
cause the  person  of  an  American  citizen  was  safe 
in  any  part  of  the  world  and  because  his  govern- 
ment thought  him  worth  righting  for  against  any 
Power.  Above  all,  they  were  proud  that  they  were 
part  of  a  government  which  fearlessly  and  impar- 
tially executed  justice  within  its  own  borders. 

During  that  first  decade  of  the  twentieth  century 
to  be  an  American  citizen  meant  what  it  had  meant 
during  the  first  century  to  be  a  citizen  of  Rome. 

During  the  summer  of  1905  President  Roosevelt 
once  more  made  Europe  aware  of  the  changed 
position  of  America  in  world  affairs,  by  suddenly 
offering  his  services  to  end  the  Russo-Japanese 
War. 

The  war  had  been  proceeding  a  year  and  a  half, 
with  terrible  bloodshed  on  both  sides.  Roosevelt 
sent  identical  notes  to  both  belligerents,  asking 
whether  his  mediation  would  be  acceptable.  Both 
replies  were  in  the  affirmative,  and  in  August  the 
peace  commissioners  arrived  and  began  their  sessions 
at  Portsmouth,  New  Hampshire. 

The  American  people  watched  the  conference  with 
mingled  feelings  of  pride  and  apprehension.  The 
President's  enemies  screamed  loudly  that  he  was 
riding  for  a  fall;  that,  to  satisfy  his  vanity,  he  had 
undertaken  an  impossible  task  which  could  result . 
only  in  failure  and  a  lamentable  loss  of  prestige  for 
the  country. 

Indeed,  failure  seemed  for  a  time  inevitable.  The 
commissioners    themselves    expected    nothing    else. 

280 


A    WORLD    POWER 

Japan  demanded  an  indemnity.  Russia  refused  ab- 
solutely to  pay  it.     There  the  matter  hung. 

Roosevelt  conferred  with  the  commissioners  at 
Sagamore  Hill  and  on  the  Mayflower  again  and  again. 
With  dogged  persistence  he  clung  to  hope  after  all 
others  had  abandoned  it,  advised  this,  recom- 
mended that,  suggested  this  other. 

Early  in  September  a  treaty  was  signed.  The 
war  was  over. 

Roosevelt's  part  in  the  negotiations  was  im- 
mediately recognized  on  all  sides,  and  had  an  ex- 
traordinary influence  both  abroad  and  at  home. 
America's  place  in  world  affairs  was,  by  it,  definite- 
ly established,  and  Roosevelt's  own  position  in  the 
eyes  of  his  countrymen  gained  a  new  security. 
The  least  enlightened  began  to  realize  that  in  Roose- 
velt they  had  a  President  who  was  an  international 
force. 

Roosevelt  was  meanwhile  endeavoring  to  establish 
closer  relations  with  the  Spanish -American  states  by 
so  dealing  with  the  weak  and  helpless  among  those 
states  that  America's  position  as  the  dominant  na- 
tion in  the  Western  Hemisphere  would  become  to 
all  the  source  of  confidence  and  satisfaction,  instead 
of  apprehension.  He  protected  the  weaker  peoples, 
threatened  by  foreign  nations  or  by  the  misrule  of 
adventurers,  but  at  the  same  time  he  sought  to  co- 
operate with  those  Central  and  South  American  gov- 
ernments with  whom  dealing  on  terms  of  equality 
was  possible.  He  helped  to  establish  a  Central 
American  Court  of  Arbitration,  and  in  1906  sent 
Elihu  Root,  Secretary  of  State  in  succession  to  Hay, 

281 


THEODORE    ROOSEVELT 

who  had  died  the  previous  year,  on  a  tour  through 
South  America.  Root  was  extraordinarily  success- 
ful, for  he  knew  the  Latin  mind,  and  established 
among  the  statesmen  of  South  America  a  confidence 


THE   "BIG'  STICK"   IN   A  NEW  ROLE 
Uncle  Sam  {looking  at  the  olive  branches  wreathing  the 
Roosevelt  club) :  "Well,  I  guess  a  little  strenuosity  is  worth 
while  in  peace  as  well  as  in  war." 

(From  the  Philadelphia  Press) 

in  the  great  neighbor  to  the  north  which  they  had 
never  before  felt. 

"Speak  softly  and  carry  a  big  stick,  and  you  will 
go  far." 

Roosevelt  had  preached  this  motto  for  ten  years 
or  more.  As  President,  he  practised  it  without  and 
within.     In  his  diplomacy  he  was  cordial,  sympa- 

282 


A    WORLD    POWER 

thetic,  fair-minded,  but  at  the  same  time  unmis- 
takably firm.  He  made  no  threats  which  he  did  not 
intend,  if  necessary,  to  put  into  effect.  He  never 
blustered.  The  words  he  spoke  were  clear,  un- 
ambiguous. Every  one  knew  exactly  what  they 
meant.  Every  one  knew,  likewise,  that  behind  them 
was  an  indomitable  will,  a  stiff  spine,  and  the 
utmost  force  of  the  United  States. 

That  force  Roosevelt  brought  to  a  point  of 
efficiency  it  had  never  known  before.  The  army  he 
did  not  enlarge,  though  he  increased  greatly  its 
practical  usefulness.  The  navy  he  doubled  in  size 
and  more  than  doubled  in  effectiveness.  In  season 
and  out  of  season  he  preached  preparedness  against 
war.  He  pleaded  with  Congress  for  a  program  of 
four  battle-ships  a  year,  but  he  pleaded  in  vain. 
Reluctantly,  Congress  granted  two.  His  opponents 
in  newspaper  offices  protested  against  the  President's 
"militaristic"  mind  which  could  not  realize  that 
the  era  of  war  was  over  and  that  the  world  was 
entering  on  "the  era  of  peace." 

California  passed  a  number  of  vigorous  anti- 
Japanese  regulations.  Japan  protested,  and  Roose- 
velt wondered  how  secure  the  establishment  of  that 
"era  of  peace"  really  was. 

The  feeling  between  Japan  and  the  United  States 
became  suddenly  tense.  The  ' '  yellow  press ' '  of  both 
countries  fanned  the  flames.  Japan,  flushed  from 
its  victory  over  Russia,  was  self-confident;  the 
American  people,  believing  the  Philippines,  Hawaii, 
and  the  whole  Pacific  coast  threatened,  were  ready, 
if  necessary,  to  defend  them  with  their  blood. 

2S3 


THEODORE    ROOSEVELT 

Roosevelt  kept  his  head  and  held  a  series  of  con- 
ferences with  Baron  Takahira,  the  Japanese  am- 
bassador. He  made  clear  the  intention  of  the 
United  States  to  limit  Oriental  immigration,  but  he 
made  clear,  at  the  same  time,  his  desire  in  no  way 
to  humiliate  Japan.  His  tact,  coupled  with  his 
great  popularity,  not  only  in  California,  but  in 
Japan,  carried  the  day.  A  ' ' gentlemen's  agreement " 
was  arranged.  War  between  Japan  and  the  United 
States  was,  for  the  time  at  least,  averted. 

Roosevelt  had  taken  a  leading  part  in  the  move- 
ment for  international  arbitration,  and  had  en- 
deavored, though  unsuccessfully,  to  persuade  the 
Senate  to  ratify  twenty  or  more  treaties  of  limited 
arbitration.  But  he  knew  that  peace  can  be  kept 
by  no  treaty,  however  sacred,  unless  that  treaty  is 
backed  by  force. 

Early  in  1907  he  announced,  to  the  amazement  of 
the  country  and  the  incredulity  even  of  naval  ex- 
perts, that  he  intended  to  send  the  American  battle- 
ship fleet  on  a  trip  around  the  world.  European 
experts  declared  flatly  that  the  thing  could  not  be 
done.  The  timid  folk  asserted  that  it  meant  war. 
Congress  cried  that  it  would  cost  too  much  money. 

The  President  stood  firm.  He  had  two  reasons 
for  desiring  to  send  the  fleet  on  this  long  journey. 
He  wished,  in  the  first  place,  in  some  dramatic  way 
to  call  the  attention  of  the  American  people  to  the 
navy  and  its  needs;  he  wished,  in  the  second  place, 
to  show  other  nations,  including  Japan,  the  power 
of  the  United  States. 

It  was  a  bold  project,  and,  as  in  the  Panama  affair, 


A    WORLD    POWER 

Roosevelt  took  full  responsibility  for  it,  not  even 
consulting  the  Cabinet. 

"In  a  crisis,"  he  said,  "the  duty  of  a  leader  is  to 
lead  and  not  to  take  refuge  behind  the  generally 
timid  wisdom  of  a  multitude  of  councilors." 

In  October,  1907,  the  fleet  set  sail,  accompanied 
by  the  torpedo  flotilla.  It  passed  through  the 
Straits  of  Magellan,  then  north  to  San  Francisco, 
where  the  flotilla  remained,  then  west  to  Japan  and 
Australia.  Everywhere  it  was  received  with  en- 
thusiastic hospitality.  The  ships  of  war  proved  to 
be  the  most  potent  ambassadors  of  peace.  The  great 
Powers  were  deeply  impressed.  The  American  peo- 
ple began  to  understand  the  mighty  thing  their 
navy  was. 

Meanwhile,  with  all  the  energy  at  his  command, 
Roosevelt  was  pushing  ahead  the  construction  of  the 
Panama  Canal.  While  Congress  was  debating  the 
relative  merits  of  a  sea-level  and  a  lock  canal,  he 
sent  a  corps  of  sanitary  engineers  to  the  Isthmus  to 
make  what  had  been  a  strip  of  death  into  a  healthy 
place  where  men  might  work  in  safety.  The  effort 
was  extraordinarily  successful.  When,  therefore, 
early  in  1907,  the  definite  plans  for  the  Canal  were 
ready,  he  was  ready  to  have  the  actual  construction 
begin.  Congress  put  the  work  in  charge  of  a  civilian 
commission  of  engineers.  But  dissension  arose; 
construction  lagged.  Roosevelt,  thereupon,  turned 
the  work  over  to  the  Engineering  Corps  of  the  Army 
with  Major  George  W.  Goethals  in  practically  auto- 
cratic control.  The  work  proceeded  with  new 
vigor.     He  himself  went  to  Panama — to  the  pertur- 

285 


THEODORE    ROOSEVELT 

bation  of  finicky  folk  who  said  that  it  was  against 
the  rules  for  an  American  President  to  leave  Ameri- 
can soil — and  for  three  days  of  tropic  rain  and  mud 
inspected  the  work  of  construction.  It  was  a  vast 
project  which  might  easily,  under  other  leadership, 
have  lost  its  momentum  in  graft  and  red  tape,  in- 
efficiency and  executive  timidity,  to  become  a  na- 
tional scandal  at  last,  ending  in  ignominious  fail- 
ure. It  was  Roosevelt  who  made  such  an  outcome 
impossible  at  the  very  start.  With  his  own  enthu- 
siasm he  kindled  the  enthusiasm  alike  of  engineer 
and  ditch-digger  and  woke  in  the  American  people  a 
sense  of  the  grandeur  of  the  undertaking  and  a  high 
determination  that  it  should  be  greatly  accomplished. 

Roosevelt's  hold  on  affairs  within  the  nation, 
meanwhile,  did  not  for  an  instant  slacken.  His 
battles  with  Congress  increased  in  bitterness,  and 
again  and  again  he  turned  directly  to  the  people 
for  support  against  their  blind  and  stubborn  rep- 
resentatives. He  preached  national  righteousness, 
and  the  people,  whose  standards  he  himself  had  re- 
shaped, rose  to  his  summons. 

A  great  change  had  come  over  the  American 
people.  Thanks  largely  to  him,  men  did  not  do 
in  1908  the  things  they  had  done  in  1901.  Roose- 
velt had  set  the  nation  thinking.  He  had  awakened 
the  social  conscience.  Because  of  him  the  nation 
had  nobler  ideals,  a  deeper  respect  for  law,  a  keener 
sense  of  the  responsibilities  of  power.  Through  his 
influence,  the  tone  of  public  life  had  been  noticeably 
raised.  In  the  Federal  service,  corruption,  intrigue, 
and  inefficiency  had  everywhere  given  place  to  a  new 

286 


A    WORLD    POWER 


devotion  to  the  public  good.  Men  working  under 
him  felt  that  they  were  not  his  inferiors  so  much  as 
co-workers  with  him  in  a  great  cause,  standing  with 
him  on  the  same  level  of  purpose  and  service.  He 
asked  and  took  their  advice  "with  that  singular 
amiability  and  open- 
mindedness,"  as  Hay 
recorded  in  his  diary, 
"which  form  so  strik- 
ing a  contrast  with 
the  general  idea  of 
his  brusque  and  ar- 
bitrary character." 

The  American  peo- 
ple recognized  the 
high  quality  of  the 
Administration  and 
watched  its  activities 
with  deep  satisfac- 
tion. As  far  back  as 
1905  a  movement  had 

been  started  to  nominate  Roosevelt  for  a  third 
term,  but  he  had  made  a  public  declaration  on 
the  night  of  his  election  in  1904  that  he  would 
under  no  circumstances  be  a  candidate  for  re-elec- 
tion, and  in  subsequent  statements  he  made  it  clear 
that  he  had  in  no  way  changed  his  mind.  Mean- 
while his  popularity  grew  as  his  militant  sincerity 
in  dealing  with  domestic  problems  and  his  great 
international  prestige  impressed  themselves  on  his 
fellow-citizens.  During  those  years  Roosevelt  was 
no  longer  merely  a  popular  hero.     He  became  a 

287 


THE  VERY  SIMPLE  MESSAGE  OF  THE 

BIG  STICK.      HE  WHO  RUNS  MAY  READ 

(From  the  Minneapolis  Tribune) 


THEODORE    ROOSEVELT 


national  obsession.  Everywhere  he  was  the  topic 
of  excited  conversation.  His  acts,  his  policies,  his 
speeches,  his  virtues,  his  faults  were  thrashed  through 
at  every  dinner-table.  Friendships  of  lifelong  stand- 
ing were  shattered  on  the  rock  of  his  personality. 

Men  adored  him  and 
men  hated  him  as  no 
man  in  American  pub- 
lic life  had  ever  been 
hated  or  adored.  If 
he  had  consented  to 
be  nominated,  his  re- 
election would  have 
been  assured. 

The  panic  of  1907, 
for  which  the  news- 
papers attempted  to 
hold  him  responsible, 
scarcely  diminished  his 
prestige,  for  his  action 
in  the  crisis  was  swift 
and  sure.  Without 
hesitation  he  took  the 
only  remedy  possible  to  prevent  a  national  disaster 
of  incalculable  dimensions,  even  though  the  remedy 
was  presented  by  men  who  had  consistently  been  his 
bitterest  enemies  and  though  he  knew  that  his  action 
would  lay  him  open  to  subsequent  charges  of  pander- 
ing to  "the  interests."  Faced  by  the  overwhelming 
facts,  he  had  the  courage  to  make  an  exception  to 
a  rule  he  had  himself  insisted  on,  and  to  let  the 
demagogue*  howl. 

28S 


KATYDIDS 

(From  the  Brooklyn  Eagle) 


A   WORLD    POWER 

The  temptation  to  keep  the  enormous  power  he 
held  in  his  hands  and  to  carry  through  the  great 
movements  he  had  put  under  way  was  great.  He 
might  have  made  himself  virtually  a  dictator.  He 
put  the  temptation  behind  him,  working  harder  to 
prevent  a  renomination  than  most  Presidents  have 
worked  to  achieve  one. 

He  was  keeping  a  pledge  he  had  made  three  years 
previous.  There  was  no  glory  in  that.  No  one 
commended  him  for  it.  The  accusations  of  arro- 
gant ambition  continued  as  loud  as  before,  and  in 
the  Senate  and  the  House  the  men  who  had  been  held 
in  check  by  the  fear  that  he  might  be  renominated 
and  re-elected  began  to  howl  and  snarl  in  defiance. 

The  Republican  national  convention  was  held  in 
Chicago  in  June.  Roosevelt  sent  Senator  Lodge 
as  his  special  representative  to  prevent  a  possible 
stampede  in  his  favor.  The  man  he  had  suggested 
as  his  successor,  William  Howard  Taft,  was  nomi- 
nated on  the  first  ballot. 

Ten  days  later,  Roosevelt  was  writing  to  Bill 
Sewall : 

I  have  thoroly  enjoyed  the  job.  I  never  felt  more  vigorous, 
so  far  as  the  work  of  the  office  is  concerned,  and  if  I  had  followed 
my  own  desires  I  should  have  been  only  too  delighted  to  stay  as 
President.  I  had  said  that  I  would  not  accept  another  term, 
and  I  believe  that  the  people  think  that  my  word  is  good,  and 
I  should  be  mighty  sorry  to  have  them  think  anything  else. 
Moreover,  for  the  very  reason  that  I  believe  in  being  a  strong 
President  and  making  the  most  of  the  office  and  using  it  without 
regard  to  the  little,  feeble,  snarling  men  who  yell  about  executive 
usurpation,  I  also  believe  that  it  is  not  a  good  thing  that  any 
one  man  should  hold  it  too  long. 

19  289 


THEODORE    ROOSEVELT 

Taft  was  triumphantly  elected  in  November. 

The  last  months  of  Roosevelt's  administration 
were  full  of  savage  warfare  between  the  President 
and  Congress.  It  seemed  as  though  the  pent-up 
passions  of  years  were  being  let  loose  in  one  final 
effort  to  even  up  old  scores. 

Ten  days  before  the  inauguration  of  his  successor, 
on  February  2 2d,  the  battle-ship  fleet  he  had  sent 
out  sixteen  months  previously,  amid  the  protests 
and  sneers  of  his  enemies,  steamed  into  Hampton 
Roads,  having  successfully  circumnavigated  the 
globe  and  in  every  port  where  it  had  touched  having, 
by  the  behavior  of  officers  and  men,  made  friends 
for  the  American  people. 

Once  more  Roosevelt  had  been  justified.  America's 
place  in  the  respect  of  nations  was  more  firmly  es- 
tablished because  of  his  audacious  and  far-sighted 
act. 

There  was  a  snow-storm  in  the  air,  but  no  cloud 
on  the  political  horizon  at  home  or  abroad  when, 
ten  days  later,  the  man  whom  the  rich  had  called 
a  "revolutionist"  and  the  pacifists  had  called  a 
"war  lord"  drove  to  the  Capitol  with  his  successor 
and  became  once  more  a  private  citizen. 


"god  bless  you!" 

(From  the  New  York  Evening  Mail) 


CHAPTER  XVI 

HE  GOES  OUT  INTO  THE  WILDERNESS 

ALMOST  a  year  before  the  close  of  his  term 
>■  Roosevelt  had  decided  to  take  a  hunting-trip 
through  Africa  when  he  retired  from  the  Presidency. 
He  had  ever  since  his  college  days  been  eager  to 
hunt  the  big  game  of  the  tropics.  He  was  hungry, 
moreover,  for  the  wilderness.  Except  for  brief  trips 
in  the  West,  coursing  wolves  in  Oklahoma  and 
hunting  bears  with  hounds  in  Colorado  and  Missis- 
sippi, he  had  kept  to  the  crowded  haunts  of  men. 

Immediately  after  the  close  of  the  convention 
which  nominated  Taft  he  had  written  to  Mrs. 
Cowles : 

I  am  very  much  pleased  with  the  result;  and  now,  as  regards 
myself,  I  am  already  looking  away  from  politics  and  towards 
Africa.  When  I  am  thru  with  a  thing  I  am  thru  with  it;  and 
as  long  as  I  have  power  to  work  I  want  to  turn  heart  and  soul 
to  the  next  bit  of  work  to  be  done.  With  the  life  I  have  led 
it  is  unlikely  that  I  shall  retain  vigor  to  a  very  advanced  age, 
and  I  want  to  be  a  man  of  action  as  long  as  I  can.  I  do  not  want 
to  make  the  African  trip  as  a  mere  holiday,  and  I  am  trying  to 
arrange,  and  hope  to  succeed  in  arranging,  that  I  shall  go  on  a 
regular  scientific  trip  representing,  say,  the  National  Museum, 
with  one  or  two  professional  field  taxidermists  to  cure  the  trophies 
and  arrange  for  their  transport  back  to  this  country. 

292 


THE   WILDERNESS 

He  made  the  arrangements  he  desired  with  the 
Smithsonian  Institution,  and  less  than  three  weeks 
after  he  left  the  White  House  on  that  stormy  4th  of 
March,  with  his  son  Kermit,  aged  nineteen,  as  his 
companion,  was  on  board  the  S.  S.  Hamburg,  mov- 
ing slowly  down  the  harbor,  amid  the  din  of  a 
thousand  steamboat  whistles,  leaving  behind  him 
a  disconsolate  people  who  wondered  how  they  were 
going  to  get  along  for  twelve  months  without 
"T.  R." 

Wise  men  shook  their  heads  and  said  he  was  too 
old  for  Africa,  and  if  the  lions  did  not  get  him,  the 
fever  would.  His  friends  were  apprehensive;  his 
enemies  hoped  for  the  worst;  the  "timid  good" 
thought  him  bloodthirsty,  and  said  so.  The  Ameri- 
can people  as  a  whole  wished  him  "good  hunting," 
knowing  quite  definitely  that  he  would  come  back, 
for  the  simple  reason  that  they  needed  him. 

At  Naples  he  changed  from  the  Hamburg  to  the 
Admiral  of  the  German  East  Africa  line.  A  day  in 
the  Italian  city  gave  Europe  its  first  opportunity 
to  see  the  amazing  American  who  had  set  European 
newspapers  and  European  dinner-tables  agog  with 
curiosity  and  admiration. 

The  King  and  Queen  of  Italy  came  to  greet  him. 
The  German  Emperor  sent  gifts  and  messages. 
The  crowds  went  wild. 

The  "folks  back  home"  felt  a  thrill  as  they  heard 
of  it,  feeling  themselves  honored  in  their  fellow- 
citizen.  But  Roosevelt,  who  was  after  bigger  sport, 
was  glad  when  the  Admiral  steamed  past  Capri 
toward  Suez. 

293 


THEODORE    ROOSEVELT 

He  landed  at  Mombasa  in  British  East  Africa  on 
April  21st,  and  found  R.  J.  Cunninghame  and  Leslie 
Tarlton,  famous  African  hunters  and  old  friends  of 
his,  waiting  for  him  with  all  the  preparations  com- 
plete for  the  long  expedition  through  the  heart  of 
Africa  to  the  Sudan.  The  actual  hunt  was  to 
begin  at  Kapiti  Plains,  three  hundred  miles  by 
train  from  the  beautiful  bay  where  Mombasa  lay 
framed  in  tropic  foliage. 

For  two  days  the  tram  moved  slowly  north- 
westward through  what  seemed  to  Roosevelt's  fas- 
cinated eyes  a  thrilling  vision  of  a  long-vanished  era.. 
He  sat  on  a  seat  across  the  cow-catcher.  The  coun- 
try through  which  he  passed  was  a  great  government 
preserve  and  a  very  paradise  for  the  naturalist. 
Strange  birds  of  every  description — brilliant  rollers, 
sun-birds,  bee-eaters,  and  weaver-birds — flew  past  or 
started  up  suddenly  almost  under  the  wheels  of  the 
train.  In  the  dusk  the  engine  barely  escaped  run- 
ning over  a  hyena. 

At  one  time  [he  wrote  later]  we  passed  a  herd  of  a  dozen  or  so 
great  giraffes,  cows  and  calves,  cantering  along  through  the 
open  woods  a  couple  of  hundred  yards  to  the  right  of  the  train. 
Again,  still  closer,  four  waterbuck  cows,  their  big  ears  thrown 
forward,  stared  at  us  without  moving  until  we  had  passed. 
Hartebeests  were  everywhere;  one  herd  was  on  the  track, 
and  when  the  engine  whistled  they  bucked  and  sprang  with 
ungainly  agility  and  galloped  clear  of  the  danger.  A  long- 
tailed  straw-colored  monkey  ran  from  one  tree  to  another. 
Huge  black  ostriches  appeared  from  time  to  time.  Once  a  troop 
of  impalla,  close  to  the  track,  took  fright;  and  as  the  beautiful 
creatures  fled  we  saw  now  one  and  now  another  bound  clear 
over  the  high  bushes.    A  herd  of  zebra  clattered  across  a  cutting 

294 


'>M    '.  ■>■;  I ,  ■ ' 
/.'Mi    •    • 


THEODORE    ROOSEVELT 

of  the  line  not  a  hundred  yards  ahead  of  the  train;  the  whistle 
hurried  their  progress,  but  only  for  a  moment,  and  as  we  passed 
they  were  already  turning  round  to  gaze. 

At  Kapiti  Plains,  their  safari — the  term  denoting 
both  the  caravan  with  which  an  expedition  is  made 
and  the  expedition  itself — was  waiting  for  them, 
the  tents  already  pitched.  Cunninghame,  who 
knew  the  ways  of  the  natives,  was  in  charge  of  the 
small  army  of  porters,  gun-bearers,  tent-boys, 
horse-boys,  and  native  soldiers  which  was  assembled 
at  the  station,  two  hundred  or  more  of  them,  for 
the  safari  was  traveling  with  heavy  baggage.  There 
were  four  tons  of  salt  alone  to  be  carried  for  the 
curing  of  the  skins,  and  an  endless  array  of  canned 
food.  One  native  bore  a  leather  case  of  books. 
That  was  the  Pigskin  Library,  containing  some 
eighty  volumes  ranging  from  Alice  in  Wonderland 
to  Gregorovius's  History  of  Rome.  The  Roosevelts, 
it  seemed,  had  no  intention  of  being  bored  in  Africa, 
for  lack  of  reading-matter. 

On  the  third  day  in  camp  Roosevelt,  having  com- 
pleted the  arrangement  of  the  ''outfit,"  went  on  his 
first  African  hunt,  riding  northward  from  the  rail- 
road across  the  desolate  flats  of  short  grass  to  the 
low  hills  or  kopjes  beyond.  Almost  immediately 
he  came  upon  the  shy  denizens  of  the  wilds  here, 
there,  and  everywhere  about  him,  hartebeest  and 
wildebeest  (antelope  and  brindled  gnu),  countless 
zebra  and  beautiful  gazelles.  In  a  shower,  the 
first  of  the  season's  "big  rains,"  he  shot  his  first 
African  game. 

The  day  following  he  rode  with  his  party  to  the 
296 


THE    WILDERNESS 

hills  of  Kitanga,  sixteen  miles  away,  where  Sir 
Alfred  Pease,  who  had  hunted  with  him  the  day 
before,  had  a  large  farm.  It  lay  in  a  beautiful 
country.  Below  the  one-story  house,  with  its  shady 
veranda  on  three  sides,  was  a  green  valley  with 
countless  flat-topped  acacia-trees ;  beyond  were  wide, 
lonely  plains,  low  hills,  and  beyond  these  the  snowy 
summit  of  Kilmanjaro,  crimson  in  the  twilight.  The 
plains  were  bare  except  for  low  bushes  covered  with 
flowers  like  morning-glories;  but  along  the  water- 
courses were  mimosas  in  blossom  and  giant  cactus- 
like euphorbias  shaped  like  candelabra,  and  on  the 
higher  hills  fig-trees  and  wild  olives.  Wild  flowers 
and  birds  were  everywhere,  brilliant  with  many 
colors. 

Day  after  day,  Roosevelt  rode,  with  only  his 
native  horse-boy  and  gun-bearers  for  company,  out 
over  the  strange  and  fascinating  plains.  These 
rides  with  his  silent  black  followers  through  the 
lonely  country,  teeming  with  game,  had  a  peculiar 
charm.  Here  a  herd  of  zebra  stared  at  him  as  he 
rode  by;  there  a  hartebeest,  perched  as  a  lookout  on 
some  huge  anthill  a  dozen  feet  high,  leaped  frantically 
away  as  it  became  aware  of  his  presence.  On  the 
plains  were  herds  of  hundreds  and  herds  of  thousands 
of  the  beautiful  wild  creatures;  in  the  brush  of  the 
ravines  were  strange  rustlings.  All  day  he  was  out, 
dozing  at  midday  under  some  wide-branching  tree 
or  watching  with  his  telescope  the  distant  herds. 
Then  again  he  would  mount,  riding  home  finally 
as  the  vast,  mysterious  African  landscape  grew  to 
wonderful  beauty  in  the  dying  twilight, 

297 


THEODORE    ROOSEVELT 

The  region  in  which  the  Pease  farm  lay  was 
noted  lion  country.  Lions  were,  in  fact,  the  terror 
of  the  neighborhood,  carrying  off  natives  bodily 
and  frequently  attacking  even  mounted  men.  All 
the  men  with  whom  Roosevelt  hunted  had  had  their 
adventures  with  the  king  of  beasts.  Some  of  them 
had  been  badly  mauled;  all  had  had  narrow  escapes. 
Every  day,  Roosevelt  came  on  the  skeleton  of  a 
zebra  or  a  gnu  some  lion  had  killed  and  eaten, 
leaving  the  last  of  the  ghastly  meal  to  the  vultures 
and  ravens  and  the  hideous  marabout  storks. 

He  hunted  lions  twice  in  vain.  The  third  time, 
after  beating  through  the  ravines  all  morning  with 
Kermit  and  his  host  without  result,  in  a  dry,  sandy 
watercourse  he  came  upon  the  track  of  a  lion. 
They  all  dismounted  and  walked  cautiously  along 
each  side  of  the  "creek,"  the  horses  following  close 
behind.  The  two  dogs  that  ran  ahead  began  to 
show  signs  of  scenting  the  lion. 

The  natives  shouted  and  threw  stones  into  each 
patch  of  brush,  while  Roosevelt  and  the  other 
hunters  stood  where  they  could  best  command  any 
probable  exit. 

The  hair  of  the  dogs  suddenly  bristled  as  they 
drew'toward  a  patch  of  brush  in  evident  excitement. 

"Simba!"  called  one  of  the  natives,  pointing  with 
his  finger. 

The  patch  which  he  indicated  was  scarcely  more 
than  five  yards  away,  just  across  the  little  ravine. 
Roosevelt  peered  eagerly  into  the  bushes.  He 
caught  a  glimpse  of  tawny  hide. 

"Shoot!"  some  one  called. 
298 


THE    WILDERNESS 

Roosevelt  fired.  There  was  a  commotion  in  the 
bushes.  Kermit  fired.  Two  lions  the  size  of  a 
mastiff  broke  out  on  the  farther  side.  They  were 
cubs  and  badly  wounded.  The  hunters,  deeply  dis- 
appointed, killed  them  in  mercy. 

It  was  late  afternoon,  and  there  was  scarce  hope 
of  another  Hon  that  day,  but  in  the  winding  bed  of 
another  watercourse,  two  miles  or  so  away,  they 
came  suddenly  upon  the  spoor  of  two  big  lions. 

They  beat  through  the  brush  without  result  and 
again  mounted,  riding  to  another  patch  a  quarter 
of  a  mile  away.  They  shouted  loudly  as  they  ap- 
proached it. 

The  response  was  immediate.  There  were  loud 
grumblings,  then  crashings  through  the  thick  brush. 

The  hunters  flung  themselves  from  their  horses 
and  for  a  breathless  minute  waited. 

Suddenly,  thirty  yards  off,  galloping  out  of  the 
brush,  appeared  the  tawny  form  of  a  great,  mane- 
less  lion. 

Roosevelt  fired.  The  soft-nosed  bullet  plowed 
forward  through  the  lion's  flank  and  he  swerved, 
so  that  the  shot  that  followed  missed.  A  third 
time  Roosevelt  fired. 

Down  he  came,  sixty  yards  off,  his  hind  quarters  dragging,  his 
head  up,  his  ears  back,  his  jaws  open  and  lips  drawn  up  in  a 
prodigious  snarl,  as  he  endeavored  to  turn  to  face  us.  His 
back  was  broken.  .  .  .  Kermit,  Sir  Alfred  and  I  fired,  almost 
together,  into  his  chest.    His  head  sank  and  he  died. 

The  other  lion  had  leaped  out  of  the  brush  like- 
wise, and  was  now  galloping  off  across  the  plain,  six 

299 


THEODORE    ROOSEVELT 

or  eight  hundred  yards  away.  The  hunters  flung 
themselves  on  their  horses  in  pursuit.  Seeing  them 
rapidly  gain  on  him,  the  lion  suddenly  halted  and 
came  to  bay  in  the  tall  grass  of  a  slight   hollow. 

Roosevelt,  on  horseback  a  hundred  and  fifty  yards 
away,  fired,  but  without  effect.  Kermit  fired  with 
the  same  result.  Old  Ben,  the  dog,  barked  loudly. 
The  lion  ignored  him. 

Roosevelt's  black  sais,  his  horse-boy,  came  run- 
ning up  and  took  hold  of  the  bridle  of  his  master's 
sorrel,  the  only  man  afoot,  with  a  lion  in  the  brush 
near  by,  making  ready  to  charge.  Roosevelt  dis- 
mounted quickly.  If  the  lion  charged  he  would 
have  to  trust  to  straight  powder  to  stop  him.  Any 
attempt  to  get  away  on  the  horse  was  out  of  the 
question,  with  the  plucky  sais  on  foot. 

"Good,"  he  said  to  the  black  boy.  "Now  we'll 
see  this  thing  through." 

The  lion  was  now  standing  up,  with  head  held 
low,  glaring  at  his  enemies  and  lashing  his  tail.  He 
growled,  and  his  growling  sounded  like  harsh  and 
savage  thunder,  as,  lashing  his  tail  more  and  more 
quickly,  he  came  on. 

Roosevelt  knelt,  resting  his  elbow  on  the  boy's 
bent  shoulder,  took  steady  aim,  and  fired.  The  lion 
fell  over  on  his  side,  recovered  himself,  and  stood 
up,  growling  savagely.  Again  Roosevelt  fired.  The 
bullet  broke  the  lion's  back.     He  did  not  rise  again. 

The  Roosevelt  party  spent  a  fortnight  at  the 
ranch  in  the  Kitanga  Hills,  then  started  "on  safari" 
northward,  the  big  line  of  burden-bearers  laden  with 
the  baggage  of  the  expedition,  sixty  pounds  to  a 

300 


THE    WILDERNESS 

man.  The  American  flag,  that  flew  each  night 
over  the  tent  of  Bwana  Makuba,  as  the  natives 
called  the  Great  Chief,  was  borne  at  the  head  of 
the  column.  The  saises  led  the  extra  horses,  and 
here  and  there  among  the  porters,  or  marching  at 
their  side,  were  the  askaris,  the  rifle-bearing  soldiers 
who  guarded  the  caravan  from  attack  from  without 
and  protected  its  white  members  from  possible  re- 
bellion. In  the  camps  the  tents  were  pitched  in 
long  lines,  and  every  night  countless  fires  were 
lighted  to  frighten  away  the  hyenas  and  the  lions 
that  grunted  and  prowled  in  the  darkness  round 
about. 

Near  the  first  camp  they  made,  by  a  water-hole 
in  a  half-dried  stream,  Roosevelt  killed  three  lions. 

The  black  askaris,  pacing  up  and  down  with  their 
rifles  at  the  edge  of  the  camp,  kept  a  watchful  eye 
that  night. 

The  safari  moved  on  across  the  high  veldt  to  the 
foot  of  Kilimakiu  Mountain,  over  innumerable  game 
trails  that  crossed  and  crisscrossed  to  hidden  drink- 
ing-places  baked  dry  after  a  two  years'  drought; 
past  countless  herds  of  game.  They  camped  near 
a  large  ostrich-farm  in  a  grove  of  shade-trees  over- 
looking the  vast  plain,  with  the  far-off  mountains 
amber  and  purple  in  the  dusk. 

Roosevelt,  hunting  next  morning  with  Slatter, 
the  owner  of  the  ostrich-farm,  some  nine  miles  from 
camp,  had  just  sent  a  runner  to  fetch  Heller,  the 
naturalist  of  the  expedition,  to  strip  and  prepare  the 
skin  of  an  eland  he  had  shot,  when  a  savage  from  a 
native  village  near  by  came  running  up  to  tell  him 

301 


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ANOTHER   PAGE   FROM   THE   DIARY 


THEODORE    ROOSEVELT 

and  his  companions  that  there  was  a  rhinoceros  on 
the  hillside  three-quarters  of  a  mile  away. 

They  sprang  to  their  saddles.  The  huge  beast 
was  standing  in  the  open,  like  an  uncouth  statue 
of  some  prehistoric  creature.  Unsuspecting,  he  lay 
down. 

As  Roosevelt  stepped  out  of  the  shelter  of  the 
bushes  to  take  aim,  the  piglike  eyes  of  the  rhinoceros 
saw  him  for  the  first  time.  With  extraordinary 
agility  he  jumped  to  his  feet.  Roosevelt  fired.  The 
animal  wheeled  and  galloped  full  on  him,  the  blood 
spouting  from  his  nostrils. 

Roosevelt  fired  once  more,  the  bullet  entering 
between  the  neck  and  shoulder  and  piercing  the 
heart.  The  great  bull  came  on,  plowing  the  ground 
with  horn  and  feet,  and  dropped  dead  just  thirteen 
paces  away. 

Now  through  the  merciless  equatorial  heat  the 
safari  moved  across  the  endless  flats  of  scorched 
grass  that  were  the  Athi  Plain.  At  the  junction  of 
the  Nairobi  and  Rewero  rivers  lay  Jujo  Farm,  the 
ranch  of  an  American  named  McMillan.  There 
they  halted. 

For  a  week  Roosevelt  enjoyed  the  hospitality  of 
the  typical  East  African  farm  with  its  low,  vine- 
shaded  house  and  its  garden  beautiful  with  flowers 
and  strange  tropic  birds.  Game  lingered  and  fed 
directly  around  the  house.  Hartebeests,  wilde- 
beests, and  zebra  grazed  in  sight  on  the  plain.  Now 
and  then  a  hippopotamus  from  the  river  near  by 
came  up  by  night  and  ravaged  the  garden. 

In  the  woods  at  the  valley's  edge,  Roosevelt  shot 
304 


THE    WILDERNESS 

the  stately  water-buck  and  the  graceful  impalla 
that  bounded  with  bird  like  lightness  in  flight.  With 
a  bullet  he  broke  the  neck  of  a  python  that  charged 
him.  On  the  plain  he  shot  giraffes.  One  day  he 
spied  a  hippopotamus  in  a  black  wooded  pool. 

As  we  crept  noiselessly  up  to  the  steep  bank  which  edged  the 
pool,  the  sight  was  typically  African.  On  the  still  water  floated 
a  crocodile,  nothing  but  his  eyes  and  nostrils  visible.  The  bank 
was  covered  with  a  dense  growth  of  trees,  festooned  with  vines; 
among  the  branches  sat  herons;  a  little  cormorant  dived  into 
the  water;  and  a  very  large  and  brilliantly  colored  kingfisher, 
with  a  red  beak  and  large  turquoise  crest,  perched  unheedingly 
within  a  few  feet  of  us. 

The  hippopotamus  escaped,  for,  as  he  was  stealth- 
ily creeping  upon  him,  there  was  a  crash  of  a  great 
body  in  the  papyrus  near  by. 

"A  rhino!"  cried  his  companions.  "Shoot! 
Shoot!" 

The  rhinoceros  broke  from  cover,  twitching  its 
head  from  side  to  side  as  it  came  lumbering  straight 
at  him.  Roosevelt  fired,  but  the  ungainly  brute 
seemed  to  come  on  only  more  swiftly.  He  fired 
again.  The  rhinoceros  turned  heavily  into  the 
thicket.  Cautiously  Roosevelt  pursued  him  through 
the  tangle  of  thorn-bushes,  reeds,  and  small  low- 
branching  trees.  There  was  a  sudden  furious  snort- 
ing. Once  more  the  animal  turned  and  charged.  As 
Roosevelt  fired  again  the  rhino  wheeled,  struggled 
back  into  the  thicket,  and  fell. 

From  Jujo  Farm,  the  Roosevelt  party  proceeded 
a  dozen  miles  to  the  ranch  of  a  settler  named  Heatley, 

20  3°5 


THEODORE    ROOSEVELT 

who  owned  a  twenty-thousand  acre  farm  on  the 
Kamiti  River.  Game  of  all  sorts  was  abundant 
there,  the  hartebeest  and  zebra  running  in  great 
herds.  It  was  the  buffalo  they  were  after  here, 
however,  the  huge  beasts  that  made  their  home  in 
the  papyrus  swamps.  Once,  cautiously  creeping 
on  two  or  three,  they  were  suddenly  confronted  with 
eighty  or  more  that  had  lain  hidden  in  the  tall 
grass  and  now,  at  the  sight  of  danger,  fronted  the 
hunters  in  a  quarter-circle  with  angry,  outstretched 
heads. 

It  was  not  a  nice  country  in  which  to  be  charged  by  the  herd 
[wrote  Roosevelt,  later],  and  for  a  moment  things  trembled  in 
the  balance.  There  was  a  perceptible  motion  of  uneasiness 
among  some  of  our  followers. 

"Stand  steady!     Don't  run!"  I  called  out. 

"And  don't  shoot!"  called  out  Cunninghame;  for  to  do  either 
would  invite  a  charge. 

A  few  seconds  passed,  and  then  the  unwounded  mass  of  the 
herd  resumed  their  flight. 

The  Roosevelt  party  now  proceeded  to  Nairobi, 
on  the  railroad,  where  the  professional  naturalists, 
Heller  and  Mearns,  prepared  the  hundreds  of  speci- 
mens the  members  of  the  party  had  shot,  for  ship- 
ment to  the  coast.  They  spent  a  week  in  the  pros- 
perous and  attractive  town,  then,  after  a  brief 
trip  up  the  railway,  started  south  from  Kijabe  on 
June  5  th  for  a  sixty-mile  trek  through  the  waterless 
country  which  lies  across  the  way  to  the  Sotik  on 
the  border  of  German  East  Africa. 

They  had  added  four  ox-wagons  to  the  expedition, 
each  drawn  by  seven  or  eight  yoke  of  the  native 

306 


THE    WILDERNESS 

humped  cattle,  and  for  three  days  crawled  through 
"the  thirst,"  making  the  longest  halt  by  day  and 
trekking  steadily  forward  by  night  under  a  full 
moon.  The  trail  led  first  through  open  brush,  then 
out  on  the  vast  and  dusty  plain.  The  natives  sang 
weirdly.  At  intervals  a  zebra  barked  in  the  dim 
distance;  jackals  shrieked;  and  the  plains  plover 
wailed  and  scolded  overhead.  During  the  third 
night  came  a  deluge  of  rain.  Through  it  Roosevelt 
heard  two  lions  grunting  not  far  ahead.  The 
storm  had  made  them  bold;  they  were  after  prey. 
Roosevelt  set  a  guard;  the  natives  built  fires;  the 
lions  crept  away. 

Day  by  day  the  expedition  moved  southward, 
camping  now  by  running  streams  amid  aloes  and 
cactus  and  mimosa  and  every  variety  of  strange 
beast  and  bird,  tiny  and  huge.  There  was  good 
hunting  by  day  of  giraffes  and  rhinoceroses,  topi  and 
cheetah  and  lion,  and  comfortable  traveling,  for  the 
weather  was  cool.  By  night  the  huntsmen  told 
stories  about  the  fire  while  lions  moaned  close  by. 

They  turned  northward  at  last  toward  Lake 
Naivasha,  crossing  a  dry  watercourse  known  as  the 
"salt  marsh,"  where  the  beauty  of  bird-song  and 
color  overhead  gave  no  hint  of  the  cobras  that 
lurked  beneath.  There  were  no  paths  here  made 
by  human  feet,  and  the  safari  followed  the  game 
trails  or  made  their  own  way.  They  were  now 
among  bold  mountain  ridges  in  a  wild  and  beautiful 
country  of  flowers  of  many  colors  in  the  open  places 
and  tangled  archways  through  forests  of  strange 
trees.    The  trail  wound  through  narrow  clefts,  across 

3°7 


THEODORE    ROOSEVELT 

ravines  of  singular  beauty,  and  along  the  brink  of 
sheer  cliffs.  At  the  end  of  four  difficult  days  they 
descended  to  Lake  Naivasha. 

Here,  Roosevelt  had  been  told,  would  be  hippopot- 
ami in  the  lagoons  and  among  the  lily -pads;  and 
he  heard  them  that  night,  bellowing  and  roaring  as 
they  fought  among  themselves.  An  English  settler 
took  him  in  a  steam-launch  after  his  quarry  next 
day,  but  it  was  twenty-four  hours  later  before  he 
brought  down  his  game.  He  struck  the  tremendous 
beast  at  a  hundred  yards  as  it  was  about  to  lumber 
off  into  the  papyrus.  The  hippopotamus  spun 
round,  plunged  into  the  water,  and  charged  him 
where  he  stood  in  the  launch,  floundering  and 
splashing  through  the  water-lilies,  his  huge  jaws 
wide  open.  Again  and  again  Roosevelt  fired.  The 
beast  never  swerved,  though  every  bullet  found  its 
mark.  He  fired  again,  this  time  striking  the  brain; 
the  charge  was  ended. 

Two  days  later,  in  a  rowboat  in  deep  water,  he 
wounded  another  hippopotamus.  It  sank.  A  na- 
tive felt  for  the  body  with  a  pole  and  immediately 
called  out  in  terror  as  the  huge  monster  came  to  the 
surface,  striking  the  boat  so  that  it  nearly  upset. 
He  was  followed  by  another  and  another,  until  the 
water  seemed  to  boil  with  the  ungainly  beasts, 
scattering  hither  and  thither. 

The  two  rowers,  with  frightened  eyes,  began  to 
back  water  out  of  the  perilous  neighborhood.  Sud- 
denly, twenty  feet  away,  a  huge  head  shot  out  of 
the  lake,  the  jaws  wide  open,  making  ready  to 
charge. 

308 


THE    WILDERNESS 


Roosevelt  fired  on  the  instant.  The  beast  sank 
out  of  sight.  Roosevelt  felt  the  boat  quiver  as  the 
hippo  passed  underneath. 

In  the  midst  of  his  hippo-hunt  he  was  prostrated 
by  a  sudden  attack  of  the  fever  from  which  he  had 
suffered  at  long  intervals  ever  since  his  Cuban 
campaign.  But  he 
did  not  let  it  inter- 
fere seriously  with 
the  day's  business. 
His  diary  for  that 
period  of  illness  runs 
as  follows: 

July  16.  Wrote — fever. 
July  17.  Wrote — fever. 
July  18.  Getting  better 
July  20.  5  Hippo. 

The  party  re- 
turned once  more  to 
Nairobi,  the  natural- 
ists to  pack  and 
transport  the  accu- 
mulated skins  and 
antlers,  Roosevelt  to 
visit  some  neighboring  missions  and  to  lay  a  corner- 
stone or  two.  Then  again  they  left  civilization  be- 
hind them  for  a  four  days'  march  across  the  high 
plateaus  and  mountain  chains  of  the  Aberdare 
range  to  Neri. 

The  steep,  twisting  trail  was  slippery  with  sand.  Our  last 
camp,  at  an  altitude  of  about  ten  thousand  feet,  was  so  cold 

309 


BWANA    MAKUBA 

(From  the  New  York  World) 


THEODORE    ROOSEVELT 

that  the  water  froze  in  the  basins,  and  the  shivering  porters  slept 
in  numbed  discomfort.  There  was  constant  fog  and  rain,  and 
on  the  highest  plateau,  the  bleak  landscape,  shrouded  in  driving 
mist,  was  northern  to  the  senses.  The  ground  was  rolling  and 
through  the  deep  valleys  ran  brawling  brooks  of  clear  water; 
one  little  stream,  suddenly  tearing  down  a  hillside,  might  have 
been  that  which  Childe  Roland  crossed  before  he  came  to  the 
dark  tower. 

At  Neri,  the  District  Commissioner  had  arranged 
a  great  Kikiyu  dance  in  Roosevelt's  honor,  and  be- 
fore him  the  half -naked  savages  swung  rhythmically 
in  rings  and  columns,  springing  and  shouting  while 
the  drums  throbbed  and  the  horns  blared  and  the 
women  shrieked  their  shrill  applause.  The  next  day 
he  was  again  on  his  way  with  Cunninghame,  making 
for  snow-capped  Mt.  Kenia. 

They  made  their  camp  well  up  among  the  foot- 
hills in  an  open  glade,  surrounded  by  the  green 
wall  of  the  tangled  forest,  where  parrots  chattered 
and  monkeys  called.     They  were  after  elephant. 

Three  days  of  cautious  progress  through  the  dim, 
cool  archways  of  the  forest,  and  at  last  they  came 
upon  the  herd  whose  tracks  they  had  been  stealthily 
following.  The  great,  lumbering  animals  were  now 
only  a  few  rods  in  advance  of  them,  but  the  jungle 
was  dense,  and  even  now  they  could  see  nothing. 

They  crept  closer.  A  great  bull  with  heavy  tusks 
lifted  his  head  and  slowly  turned  it  toward  the 
hunters.  Roosevelt  fired.  The  shock  stunned  the 
elephant,  who  stumbled  forward,  half  falling,  re- 
covered himself,  and  fell  crashing  to  earth  under 
a  second  bullet. 

At  the  same  instant  the  thick  bushes  parted  at 
310 


THE   CAMP   AT     N    GUNGA 


IX    A   BAMBOO-FOREST 


WITH   A   COW-ELEPHANT    SHOT    AT 
MERU 


IN   THE    HEART   OF    AFRICA 

(By  courtesy  of  Charles  Scribner's  Sons) 


THE    WILDERNESS 

Roosevelt's  left  and  through  them  surged  a  huge 
bull  elephant,  charging.  The  matted  mass  of  tough 
creepers  snapped  like  a  pack-thread  before  his  rush. 
He  could  have  touched  Roosevelt  with  his  trunk. 

Roosevelt  leaped  aside.  He  had  had  no  time  to 
reload  his  gun.  He  dodged  behind  a  tree  trunk, 
opening  his  rifle,  throwing  out  the  empty  shells, 
and  slipping  in  two  cartridges. 

Cunninghame  fired  right  and  left  and  flung  him- 
self into  the  bushes. 

The  elephant  stopped  short  in  his  charge,  wheeled, 
and  disappeared  in  the  thick  cover. 

The  two  men  ran  forward,  but  the  jungle  had 
closed  behind  him.  They  heard  him  trumpet 
shrilly  in  the  distance.     Then  there  was  silence. 

Roosevelt  left  the  naturalists  in  charge  of  his 
elephant  and  returned  to  Neri-boma  to  gather  a 
safari  of  Kikuyu  porters  for  a  hunting  trip  along 
the  Guaso  Nyero.  Cunninghame  and  Heller  joined 
him  in  a  week,  and  together  they  proceeded  to  Meru 
on  the  northeastern  slopes  of  Mt.  Kenia,  where  Ker- 
mit  Roosevelt  and  Tarlton,  who  had  been  on  a 
safari  of  their  own,  rejoined  the  party.  At  Meru 
they  remained  a  fortnight,  hunting  elephant  and 
rhinoceros;  then  the  party  once  more  split,  Roose- 
velt and  Cunninghame  with  a  donkey-train  going 
off  for  a  month  along  the  Guaso  Nyero  after  giraffe 
and  ostrich  and  eland  and  or}^x  and  buffalo  and 
crocodile.  It  was  a  hunter's  paradise  through  which 
they  trekked,  and  a  land  of  varying  and  fas- 
cinating beauty.  October  was  two-thirds  over  be- 
fore they  again  reached  Nairobi. 


THEODORE    ROOSEVELT 

Five  days  later  they  were  once  more  under  way, 
starting  from  the  railroad  at  Londiani  for  the  Uasin 
Gishu  plateau  and  the  foot-hills  of  Mt.  Elgon. 
There,  crossing  and  recrossing  the  equator,  now 
shivering  in  northern  cold,  now  baking  in  tropic  heat, 
they  spent  a  month.  At  Sergoi  Lake  they  watched 
a  company  of  savage  warriors  surround  and  kill  a 
lion  with  their  spears. 

Roosevelt  returned  to  Nairobi  the  end  of  Novem- 
ber, to  bid  farewell  to  his  friends  there  and  to  the 
safari  that  had  served  him  faithfully  for  seven 
months.  Then  he  proceeded  with  his  party  to 
Kisumu  on  Lake  Victoria  Nyanza  where  a  twenty- 
four  hours'  trip  by  steamer  took  them  to  Eutebbe, 
the  seat  of  the  English  Governor  of  Uganda.  The 
shores  they  skirted  were  beautiful  with  luxuriant 
meadows  and  forests,  but  the  fisherfolk  who  had 
once  prospered  there  had  vanished,  stricken  with 
the  terror  that  had  crept  on  them  out  of  the  jungle 
to  the  north  and  slain  them  by  thousands  with  the 
sleeping-sickness. 

Roosevelt  secured  a  new  safari  at  Kampalla,  just 
west  of  Eutebbe,  and,  after  paying  his  respects  to 
the  little  black  King  of  Uganda,  proceeded  with  his 
party  northwestward  toward  Lake  Albert  Nyanza. 
For  days  they  passed  through  the  high  elephant 
grass,  twice  as  tall  as  a  man  on  horseback.  In  it, 
here  and  there,  were  strange  trees  where  monkeys 
chattered  and  birds  of  many  colors  sprang  like  bright 
sparks  in  and  out  of  the  green  shadow.  The  hills  be- 
came higher  as  they  went  on,  and  thorn-trees  and 
royal  palms  flanked  the  trail.     Once  they  passed  a 

313 


THE    WILDERNESS 

company  of  porters  returning  from  the  Congo. 
Their  master,  an  elephant-poacher,  had  been  killed 
by  natives.  Once  they  came  upon  elephant  spoor, 
and,  following  it  through  dim,  cavernous  windings 
in  the  dark,  vine-covered  jungle,  were  charged  by 
the  huge  beast.  Steadily,  silently,  his  feet  swishing 
through  the  long  grass,  he  came  on.  Roosevelt 
and  Kermit,  facing  him  together,  stopped  him,  and 
then,  as  he  veered  round,  followed  him  for  hours 
through  the  wild  tangle.  They  finished  him  at 
last. 

His  trunk  made  excellent  soup. 

The  chiefs  of  the  native  villages  had  been  warned 
some  time  before  of  their  coming,  and  each  camp, 
with  open  rest-house  and  wicker-work  fence,  was 
prepared  for  them  when  they  arrived.  The  local 
chief  greeted  them,  when  they  came,  with  music 
of  rudimentary  fiddles  and  harps,  and  bowing  and 
clapping  of  hands.  At  Hoima,  a  little  native  town, 
they  stayed  for  a  day,  exchanging  courtesies  with 
the  King  of  Unyoro  and  the  Episcopalian  and 
Roman  Catholic  missionaries.  Then  once  more  they 
proceeded  northwestward  through  the  luxuriant 
thicket  where  birds  were  a  delight  and  puff-adders 
a  constant  peril.  On  January  5th  they  reached 
Lake  Albert  Nyanza. 

A  flotilla — consisting  of  a  crazy  little  steam- 
launch,  two  sailboats,  and  two  large  rowboats — 
was  waiting  for  them,  and  immediately  started 
northward  down  the  White  Nile. 

The  brilliant  tropic  stars  made  lanes  of  light  on  the  lapping 
water  as  we  ran  on  through  the  night.     The  river-horses  roared 

313 


THEODORE    ROOSEVELT 

from  the  reed-beds,  and  snorted  and  plunged  beside  the  boat, 
and  crocodiles  slipped  sullenly  into  the  river  as  we  glided  by. 
Toward  morning  a  mist  arose,  and  through  it  the  crescent  of 
the  dying  moon  shone  red  and  lurid.  Then  the  sun  flamed 
aloft  and  soon  the  African  landscape,  vast,  lonely,  mysterious, 
stretched  on  every  side  in  a  shimmering  glare  of  heat  and  light; 
and  ahead  of  us  the  great,  strange  river  went  twisting  away 
into  the  distance. 


They  disembarked  after  two  days  in  the  Lado, 
northeast  of  the  Belgian  Congo,  to  hunt  the  white 
rhinoceros.  Here  they  were  in  the  heart  of  the 
African  jungle,  a  wild  and  lonely  country  where  they 
saw  no  human  beings  except  an  occasional  party  of 
naked  savages  armed  with  bows  and  poisoned  ar- 
rows. The  heat  by  day  and  night  was  terrific. 
Roosevelt  was  bitten  by  the  sleeping-sickness  fly, 
but  escaped  infection,  though  at  a  river  village 
where  they  had  stopped  the  day  before  eight  natives 
were  dying  of  the  dread  disease,  and  the  other  white 
members  of  the  party  were  all  suffering  at  times 
from  fever,  dysentery,  or  heat  prostration.  All 
night  the  hippopotami  grunted  and  brayed  and 
splashed  among  the  reeds  close  to  their  camp,  and 
now  and  again  the  hunters  would  hear  the  roaring 
of  lions  and  the  trumpeting  of  elephants.  One  night 
a  party  of  lions,  scenting  rhinoceros  meat,  prowled 
within  fifteen  feet  of  the  tents. 

Game  was  plentiful  and  the  party  remained .  in 
the  neighborhood  three  weeks  or  more,  securing 
specimens  for  the  museum.  For  meat  they  depended 
entirely  on  their  rifles.  Once  Kermit  shot  a  croco- 
dile.    It  was  a  female  and  contained  a  little  more 

3H 


THE    WILDERNESS 

than  four  dozen  eggs.     They  scrambled  the  eggs 
and  ate  them. 

Once  more  they  took  to  their  flotilla  and  steamed 
and  drifted  down  the  Nile,  white  men  and  black 
men,  tents,  food,  and  spoils  of  the  chase  all  huddled 
together  under  the  torrid  sun.  •  At  Nimule,  twenty- 
six 'hours  later,  they  embarked,  to  begin  on  Feb- 
ruary 17th  the  ten  days'  march  through  the  terrify- 
ing heat  to  Gondokoro. 

At  quarter  of  three  in  the  morning  the  whistle  blew;  we 
dressed  and  breakfasted  while  the  tents  were  taken  down  and 
the  loads  adjusted.  Then  off  we  strode,  through  the  hot  starlit 
night,  our  backs  to  the  Southern  Cross  and  our  faces  toward  the 
Great  Bear;  for  we  were  marching  northward  and  homeward. 
The  drum  throbbed  and  muttered  as  we  walked,  on  and  on, 
along  the  dim  trail.  At  last  the  stars  began  to  pale,  the  gray 
east  changed  to  opal  and  amber  and  amethyst,  the  red  splendor 
of  the  sunrise  flooded  the  world,  and  to  the  heat  of  the  night 
succeeded  the  more  merciless  heat  of  the  day.  Higher  and 
higher  rose  the  sun.  The  sweat  streamed  down  our  faces  and 
the  bodies  of  the  black  men  glistened  like  oiled  iron. 

And  so  they  came  to  Gondokoro  and  the  world 
of  officials,  and  palatial  ships,  and  telegrams  from 
potentates,  and  gloomy  letters  from  old  friends  telling 
how  the  things  that  Theodore  Roosevelt  had  fought 
for  among  his  own  people  were  in  peril  of  destruction. 

The  great  hunting  trip  of  Bwana  Makuba  was 
ended. 


CHAPTER  XVII 

HE    WALKS    WITH    KINGS 

FOR  a  year,  in  spite  of  his  absence  from  the 
scenes  of  its  vital  affairs,  the  world,  and  es- 
pecially that  part  of  it  which  calls  itself  the  United 
States,  had  been  talking  of  Theodore  Roosevelt  and 
arguing  about  Theodore  Roosevelt  and  asking  what 
Theodore  Roosevelt  would  say  about  this  and  do 
about  that,  and  counting  the  days  until  Theodore 
Roosevelt  should  emerge  from  his  self-imposed  exile 
and  take  up  once  more  his  leadership  of  the  forces 
of  progress.  Unexpected,  disquieting  things  had 
happened  meanwhile.  The  Republican  party  was 
in  a  bad  way,  the  country  was  in  a  ferment,  a  tide 
of  popular  unrest  was  rising. 

Roosevelt  refused  to  make  any  statement  on  the 
political  situation.     He  was  out  of  politics,  he  said. 

The  world  gave  Theodore  Roosevelt  its  glad 
"Welcome  home !"  at  Khartoum  amid  beating  drums 
and  flying  banners.  He  made  speeches  here  and 
there,  he  inspected  a  college,  he  reviewed  troops. 
The  British  officials  praised  him  as  a  great  states- 
man, the  fellaheen  in  their  blue  robes  at  the  river's 
edge  cheered  him  as  a  mighty  hunter. 

316 


KINGS 

He  had  planned  to  slip  through  Europe  as  a  private 
citizen.  Khartoum  taught  him  that  he  had  evident- 
ly made  a  miscalculation.  He  cabled  to  New  York 
for  a  stenographer. 

His  trip  down  the  Nile  was  a  series  of  receptions 
and  speeches  to  cheering  crowds. 


"talk  about  being  president!" 

(Prom  the  Cleveland  Plain  Dealer) 

At  Luxor,  a  discordant  note  broke  harshly  into 
the  enthusiastic  harmony.  He  received  word  in- 
directly from  the  Egyptian  revolutionary  party  that 
in  case  he  should  presume  to  pass  judgment  on  the 
assassination  of  the  Egyptian  Premier,  Boutras 
Pasha,  a  month  previous,  he  would  himself  be  as- 
sassinated. 

3i7 


THEODORE    ROOSEVELT 

He  knew  the  facts.  Boutras  Pasha  had  stood  for 
law  and  order.  The  Nationalists,  who  had  abetted 
his  murder,  stood  for  chaos  and  anarchy.  Three 
days  later  he  spoke  at  Cairo  before  the  University 
of  Egypt,  and  in  unequivocal  terms  condemned  the 
assassination  and  all  who  defended  it. 

There  was  a  violent  outcry.  Extra  guards  were 
set  about  him  wherever  he  went.  The  Nationalist 
newspapers  excoriated  him.  But  sober  public  senti- 
ment applauded;  and  no  one  made  the  threatened 
attack  against  his  life. 

He  proceeded  to  Rome  and  was  immediately  the 
center  of  another  bitter  controversy.  He  had  asked 
to  be  presented  to  the  Pope.  The  Vatican  had 
sought  to  make  his  presentation  conditional  on  his 
declaration  that  he  would  not  call  at  the  college 
of  the  Methodists,  the  Church's  active  opponents  in 
Rome.  Roosevelt  felt  that  self-respect  and  his  posi- 
tion as  an  American  citizen  forbade  his  acceptance 
of  any  restriction  on  his  freedom  of  action,  and, 
knowing  that  the  most  effective  foe  of  misunder- 
standing was  publicity,  gave  the  full  correspondence 
to  the  press.  The  newspapers  of  Europe  and  America 
flamed  with  the  story.  A  fierce  religious  controversy 
threatened.  Roosevelt  sent  out  a  statement  to  the 
American  people  "expressing  the  earnest  hope  that 
the  incident  would  be  treated  in  a  matter-of-fact 
way,  as  merely  personal,  and,  above  all,  as  not 
warranting  the  slightest  exhibition  of  rancor  and 
bitterness";  rebuked  the  head  of  the  Methodists 
in  Rome  who  attempted  to  make  capital  out  of  it; 
and  flung  himself  with  zest  into  the  celebrations  of 

318 


KINGS 

every  sort  arranged  for  him  by  the  King  of  Italy, 
the  Italian  government,  and  the  City  of  Rome. 

The  journey  of  the  "private  American  citizen" 
north  through  Italy  to  Venice  and  along  the  Riviera 
was  a  triumphant  succession  of  receptions  and  wildly 
cheering  crowds.  At  the  home  of  his  sister-in-law, 
Miss  Carow,  at  Porto  Maurizio,  he  rested  to  catch 
up  with  his  mail.  But  from  all  directions  came  dis- 
tinguished Italians;  the  municipality  welcomed  him 
as  "the  promoter  of  international  peace  and  the 
champion  of  human  fraternity  and  solidarity,"  con- 
ferred on  him  the  freedom  of  the  city,  and  named 
a  street  after  him;  laymen  and  prelates  sought  his 
counsel;  peasants  and  artisans  bombarded  his  car- 
riage with  flowers  as  he  drove  by.  ' '  Viva,  viva,  viva 
Roosevelt!"  was  the  cry  on  all  sides. 

Once  more  he  was  on  the  wing,  first  to  Venice, 
then  to  Vienna.  At  the  Austrian  frontier  he  was 
met  by  a  representative  of  the  Emperor  Francis 
Joseph,  who  welcomed  him  to  Austria  in  the  name 
of  "His  gracious  Catholic  Majesty."  The  people 
who  lined  the  streets  saw  in  him  the  foremost  fighter 
in  the  world  for  popular  rights  against  special  privi- 
lege; the  princes  and  diplomats  who  crowded  about 
him  in  the  palace  recognized  the  powerful  adminis- 
trator, the  champion  of  law  and  order,  the  rounded 
and  magnetic  personality.  Hunters  and  soldiers 
and  scientists  and  men  of  letters  vied  with  one 
another  to  do  him  honor. 

Before  his  coming,  the  Viennese  had  expressed 
doubts  of  his  real  greatness.  Those  doubts  his  visit 
dissipated. 

3J9 


THEODORE    ROOSEVELT 

"1st  das  ein  Mensch!"  was  the  phrase.  "What 
a  manV 

And  the  head  waiter  of  the  hotel  where  Roosevelt 
was  stopping  stared  with  laree  eyes  at  the  crowd 
gathered  to  see  the  great  American  enter  his  car- 
riage, and  cried:  "This  is  wonderful.     I  never  saw 


A   STRENUOUS   VISITATION   OF    OLD   EUROPE 

(From  the  Boston  Herald) 


anything  like  it  before,  and  yet  we  have  had  many 
kings  staying  here." 

He  proceeded  to  Hungary.  At  the  station  at 
Budapest  thousands  were  waiting  for  him  in  a  heavy 
downpour  of  rain.  Here  he  met  the  same  enthusiasm 
he  had  found  in  Rome  and  Vienna.  In  the  Hun- 
garian House  of  Parliament,  Count  Apponyi  greeted 
him  officially  as  ' '  the  champion  of  human  rights  and 

320 


KINGS 

liberty  and  international  justice."  He  called  on 
Francis  Kossuth,  the  son  of  the  great  Hungarian 
patriot. 

"I  am  ill,"  said  Kossuth,  "but  if  you  had  not  been 
kind  enough  to  call  on  me,  I  should  have  been  con- 
veyed to  your  hotel  on  a  litter." 

He  drove  out  into  the  country,  and  in  every  vil- 
lage through  which  he  passed  he  was  greeted  with 
delegations  and  garlands,  with  triumphal  arches, 
and  flowers  and  cheers.  He  returned  to  the  city, 
and  tens  of  thousands  of  people,  filling  the  avenues 
along  the  Danube  outside  his  hotel,  cheered,  and 
would  not  cease  cheering  until  he  appeared. 

The  Hungarian  people,  aching  for  liberty,  recog- 
nized in  him  the  kind  of  leader  of  whom  they  them- 
selves were  most  sorely  in  need. 

Roosevelt  went  to  Paris,  and  on  April  23d,  in  the 
amphitheater  of  the  ancient  Sorbonne,  delivered  his 
address  on  "Citizenship  in  a  Republic."  Once 
more  the  streets  through  which  he  passed  were  filled 
with  immense  crowds,  and  in  the  hall  where  he 
spoke  three  thousand  of  the  most  eminent  men  of 
France  were  gathered  to  hear  him. 

It  was  a  message  from  the  citizen  of  one  republic 
to  the  citizens  of  another  that  he  delivered  there, 
vivid  and  pungent  and  eloquent,  a  denunciation  of 
cynicism  and  intellectual  aloofness,  and  a  laudation 
of  those  "commonplace,  every-day  qualities  and 
virtues"  which  make  character  and  which  he  had 
persistently  in  season  and  out  of  season  exalted 
among  his  own  people.  In  ringing  words  he  de- 
nounced the  phrase-maker  in  a  republic,  ' '  the  phrase- 
21  321 


THEODORE    ROOSEVELT 

monger"  whose  speech  does  not  make  for  courage, 
sobriety,  and  right  understanding,  and  held  high 
the  man  of  action 

who  does  actually  strive  to  do  the  deeds;  who  knows  the  great 
enthusiasms,  the  great  devotions;  who  spends  himself  in  a 
worthy  cause;  who  at  the  best  knows  in  the  end  the  triumph 
of  high  achievement,  and  who  at  the  worst,  if  he  fails,  at  least 
fails  while  daring  greatly,  so  that  his  place  shall  never  be  with 
those  cold  and  timid  souls  who  know  neither  victory  nor  defeat. 

Paris  and  all  France  were  stirred  by  his  words. 
His  speech  was  sent  to  every  school-teacher  in  the 
republic.  Political  leaders  gained  new  courage  from 
it,  the  people  new  inspiration.  Not  only  during  his 
stay,  but  for  weeks  after  he  had  gone,  the  speech 
and  the  man  were  still  the  main  topic  of  conversa- 
tion. The  French  Cabinet  dared,  on  May  ist,  to 
present  a  firmer  front  under  the  threat  of  an  unruly 
Socialist  demonstration  than  any  French  govern- 
ment had  in  fifteen  years  dared  to  do. 

"He  left  in  the  minds  of  these  people,"  said  a 
Parisian,  "some  of  that  intangible  spirit  of  his — they 
felt  what  he  would  have  telt  in  a  similar  emergency, 
and  for  the  first  time  in  their  lives  showed  a  dis- 
regard of  voters  when  they  were  bent  upon  mischief." 

Roosevelt  went  to  Brussels  and  was  entertained 
by  King  Albert  and  the  Queen;  he  went  to  The 
Hague  and  was  received  by  Queen  Wilhelmina  and 
the  Prince  Consort;  he  went  to  Copenhagen,  to 
Christiania.  Everywhere  were  banners  and  elabo- 
rate decorations  and  royalties  on  the  station  plat- 
form, and  banquets  and  cheering  crowds  and  states- 

322 


KINGS 


men  and  scientists  and  soldiers  and  poets  crowding 
round  him  to  have  a  minute's  talk.  To  these  men 
he  was  the  personification  of  the  moral  force  in  man 
which  translates  ideals  into  accomplished  benefits; 
and  they  studied  him  as  a  strange  and  wonderful 
expression  of  a  new  spirit  in  the  affairs  of  men. 

At  Christiania  he  delivered  a  lecture  on  "Inter- 
national Peace"  be- 
fore the  Nobel  Prize 
Committee  which,  in 
1906,  had  awarded 
him  the  peace  prize 
for  bringing  about 
the  conclusion  of  the 
Russo-Japanese  War, 
pleading  for  a  league 
of  nations  backed  by 
adequate  force.  He 
went  to  Stockholm, 
and  again  he  was  re- 
ceived with  the  hon- 
ors of  a  king. 

He  turned  south- 
ward. At  Stockholm 
he  had  received  news  of  the  death  of  King  Edward 
VII  of  England,  and  all  further  festivities  had  every- 
where been  canceled.  The  German  Emperor  had 
planned  a  series  of  entertainments  of  extraordinary 
magnificence  for  this  hero  of  his  whom  he  so  frankly 
idolized,  but  King  Edward's  death  made  these  im- 
possible. Roosevelt  was  not  sorry.  He  had  had 
more  than  his  share  of  state  banquets,  and  a  gala 

323 


SEEING   ROOSEVELT 
(From  the  St.  Louis  Post-Dispatch) 


THEODORE    ROOSEVELT 

performance  at  the  opera  had  no  charms  for  one  to 
whom  any  performance  at  the  opera  was  a  torture. 

Berlin  was  on  the  surface  as  enthusiastically  hos- 
pitable as  the  other  capitals  of  the  Continent. 
The  Roosevelt  party  arrived  early  in  the  morning. 
At  noon  they  were  escorted  to  Potsdam  by  the 
Chancellor,  Bethmann-Hollweg,  and  the  Minister 
of  Foreign  Affairs,  von  Schoen.  The  Emperor  was 
on  the  steps  of  the  Imperial  Palace,  awaiting  them. 
It  was  late  afternoon  before  he  allowed  them  to 
depart. 

The  next  morning  Roosevelt  was  again  at  the 
Emperor's  side,  on  horseback,  riding  to  the  great 
troop  maneuvers  at  Doeberitz.  For  five  hours  they 
watched  the  maneuvers  of  the  thousands  on  thou- 
sands of  trained  troops ;  then  the  long,  brilliant  march 
past. 

At  last  the  maneuvers  were  over.  The  competing 
generals  with  their  staffs  gathered  about  the  Em- 
peror for  discussion. 

The  Emperor  turned  to  his  guest.  "Roosevelt, 
my  friend,"  he  said,  "I  wish  to  welcome  you  in  the 
presence  of  my  Guards.  I  ask  you  to  remember 
that  you  are  the  only  private  citizen  who  ever  re- 
viewed the  troops  of  Germany." 

The  next  day,  May  12th,  the  Emperor  and  Em- 
press and  the  highest  military  and  civil  officials  of 
the  government  gathered  with  the  faculty  and 
student  body  of  the  University  of  Berlin  to  hear 
Roosevelt's  lecture  on  "The  World  Movement." 
They  waited  and  waited.  Roosevelt  did  not  ap- 
pear.    He  arrived  at  last,   some  twenty  minutes 

324 


KINGS 

late.  The  crowds  at  Berlin,  it  seemed,  were  as 
enthusiastic  as  the  crowds  elsewhere.  They  had 
jammed  the  street  through  which  Roosevelt's  car 
had  to  pass  to  reach  the  university,  and  kept  him 
a  prisoner  with  their  ovation. 

But  though  the  Emperor  was  cordial,  the  news- 
papers, on  the  whole,  friendly,  and  the  populace 
vociferous,  Roosevelt  was  conscious  in  Berlin  as 
nowhere  else  of  a  veiled  hostility  to  himself  and  to 
the  United  States.  The  truth  was  that  the  pro- 
fessors thought  his  address  platitudinous,  without 
realizing,  as  the  French  intellectuals  did,  that  the 
Ten  Commandments  are  platitudes;  the  statesmen 
were  not  interested  in  it,  for  they  were  not  interested 
in  its  theme,  which  was  international  co-operation; 
the  military  officers  resented  the  Emperor's  atten- 
tions to  a  civilian,  and  were  frank  in  their  expressions 
of  displeasure  that  a  mere  American  should  have 
been  allowed  to  review  Prussian  troops. 

All  the  leading  officials  were  undisguisedly  scorn- 
ful of  America;  none  of  them  made  the  slightest 
attempt  to  conceal  his  hostility.  They  frankly  as- 
serted their  conviction  that  America  was  a  land  of 
dollar-chasers  in  which  a  man  of  Roosevelt's  ideal- 
ism was  the  exception  which  proved  the  rule.  One 
German  newspaper  described  him  as  a  spiritual  de- 
scendant of  Frederick  the  Great,  and  another  as  so 
much  like  Bismarck  as  really  to  have  no  American 
qualities  at  all.  In  this  respect  the  German  papers 
followed  those  of  Italy  and  France,  which  persisted 
in  praising  him  at  the  expense  of  his  countrymen. 
Rome  thought  him  much  more  like  Garibaldi  than 

325 


THEODORE    ROOSEVELT 

like  an  average  American;  Paris  considered  him  as 
distinctly  Gallic  in  temperament;  London  declared 
that  he  was  much  more  of  the  type  of  an  English 
than  an  American  statesman.  All  agreed  that  the 
hero-worship  of  Theodore  Roosevelt  was  not  Ameri- 
can, but  European.  "America,"  they  declared, 
"America  does  not  understand  the  man  whom 
Europe  delights  to  honor." 

Roosevelt  arrived  in  London  the  middle  of  May. 

The  King's  death  had,  of  course,  completely  al- 
tered the  arrangements  made  for  his  visit;  and  a 
message  from  President  Taft  appointing  him  special 
ambassador  of  the  United  States  at  the  funeral 
altered  his  own  status.  He  made  his  headquarters 
at  Dorchester  House,  the  residence  of  Whitelaw 
Reid,  the  American  ambassador,  which  immediately 
became  a  Mecca  whose  only  rival  was  the  somber 
Abbey  where  the  body  of  a  dead  king  lay  in  state. 

London  was  full  of  living  kings  during  the  days 
preceding  the  funeral,  and  one  after  another  broke 
all  the  rules  of  royal  custom  by  calling  in  person  at 
Dorchester  House.  The  footmen  suffered  spasms 
at  being  confronted  at  any  hour  of  the  day  by 
some  king  wishing  to  pay  his  respects  to  a  Certain 
Eminent  Private  Citizen;  and  Whitelaw  Reid,  who 
had  a  fondness  for  earthly  grandeur,  beamed.  But 
Roosevelt,  trying  frantically  to  catch  up  with  his 
correspondence,  was  heard  to  exclaim,  when  a  flus- 
tered footman  announced  another  sovereign: 

"Hang  these  kings!  I  wish  they  would  leave  me 
alone!" 

The  kings  were  plentiful,  and  they  had  curious 
326 


KINGS 

ways.  The  King  of  Bulgaria  was  in  London,  at 
daggers'-points  with  the  Archduke  Franz  Ferdinand 
of  Austria,  because  each  had  wished  to  have  his 
special  car  immediately  next  to  the  engine  on  the 
Orient  Express  two  days  before,  and  though  the 
King  of  Bulgaria  had  won  on  that  question,  the 
Archduke  had  revenged  himself  by  not  letting  the 
King  pass  through  his  car  on  the  way  to  the  diner. 

The  German  Emperor  was  there  also,  evidently 
glad  to  see  Roosevelt  again. 

One  evening  at  Buckingham  Palace,  in  a  room 
that  was  full  of  kings,  Roosevelt  was  conversing  with 
Ferdinand  of  Bulgaria.  The  Emperor  suddenly  and 
brusquely  interposed. 

"Friend  Roosevelt,"  he  cried,  "come  over  here! 
Here's  a  man  you  really  want  to  talk  to." 

Roosevelt  was  amused  and  wondered  what  the 
"bush-league  czar"  was  thinking.  The  other  man 
was  the  King  of  Spain. 

And  so  Alphonso  and  the  American  who  had  done 
more  than  any  other  man  to  break  Spain's  hold  on 
her  island  possessions  met  after  twelve  years  and 
cordially  shook  hands. 

The  funeral  of  King  Edward  was  a  great  and 
solemn  pageant,  but  to  the  eye  of  an  American  it 
was  not  without  its  humorous  aspects.  The  elabo- 
rate ceremoniousness  was  a  source  of  unending 
amusement  to  the  man  who  had  been  the  most 
democratic  of  American  Presidents  since  Jackson. 
The  seriousness  with  which  ambassadors  of  foreign 
states,  even  of  republics,  took  each  detail  of  gilded 
pomp  struck  him  as  hugely  comic.  He  had  all  he  could 

327 


THEODORE    ROOSEVELT 

do  to  prevent  the  ambassador  with  whom  he  rode  in 
the  procession  from  making  an  international  issue 
of  the  fact  that  the  coach  assigned  to  them  was 
not  a  glass  coach,  as  the  coaches  of  the  kings  were, 
and  that  the  footmen  who  rode  before  and  behind 
wore  black  livery  when  the  footmen  of  the  kings 
were  wearing  red. 

Roosevelt  was  glad  for  the  inspiration  which  had 
impelled  him,  after  an  overdose  of  royalties,  a  fort- 
night before,  to  cable  to  Seth  Bullock,  United  States 
marshal  in  South  Dakota,  to  come  over  to  London 
as  his  guest.  He  wanted  to  see  somebody  who 
talked  his  own  language. 

He  remained  in  England  a  little  short  of  four 
weeks.  Late  in  May  Cambridge  University  con- 
ferred on  him  the  honorary  degree  of  Doctor  of 
Laws;  early  in  June  Oxford  made  him  a  Doctor  of 
Civil  Law. 

On  a  day  half-way  between  these  solemn  academic 
occasions  he  made  a  speech  at  the  Guildhall  in  Lon- 
don that  set  all  England  by  the  ears. 

It  was  about  Egypt.  The  Lord  Mayor  had  con- 
ferred on  him  the  freedom  of  the  City  of  London. 
In  expressing  his  thanks  he  spoke  of  his  experience 
in  four  English  protectorates  in  Africa  during  the 
past  year.  -  He  lauded  British  rule  there,  but  de- 
clared flatly  that  in  the  case  of  Egypt  the  attitude 
of  the  British  government  was  weak,  timid,  and 
sentimental. 

Either  you  have  the  right  to  be  in  Egypt  or  you  have  not, 
either  it  is  or  it  is  not  your,  duty  to  establish  and  keep  order. 
If  you  feel  you  have  not  the  right  to  be  in  Egypt,  if  you  do  not 

328 


KINGS 

wish  to  establish  and  to  keep  order  there,  why,  then,  by  all  means 
get  out  of  Egypt.  .  .  .  Some  nation  must  govern  Egypt.  I 
hope  and  believe  that  you  will  decide  that  it  is  your  duty  to  be 
that  nation. 

The  speech  raised  a  storm.  The  Liberals  at- 
tacked Roosevelt  as  a  meddler  who  had  no  business 
to  give  his  advice  on  matters  which  were  no  con- 
cern of  his ;  the  extreme  radicals  were  wild ;  the  ex- 
treme conservatives  contemptuous;  the  majority  of 
thoughtful  men,  however,  commended  Roosevelt's 
courage  and  vision.  Statesmen  who  had  the  in- 
terests both  of  Egypt  and  of  England  at  heart  ex- 
pressed their  gratitude.  The  affair  came  up  in 
Parliament.  The  Foreign  Secretary,  Sir  Edward 
Grey,  thereupon  announced  that  he  had  seen  the 
address  before  its  delivery  and  approved  of  it;  that 
it  had,  in  fact,  been  delivered  at  his  expressed  desire. 

The  opposition  collapsed.  Roosevelt  sailed  for 
home  with  the  cheers  of  Englishmen,  high  and  low, 
ringing  in  his  ears. 

"Mr.  Roosevelt  came  to  a  Europe  which  was  sick 
and  weary  of  talk,  perpetual  talk,  about  rights,"  said 
an  American  commentator  on  the  Continent,  "and  it 
listened  with  avidity  and  hope  to  a  man  who  spoke  of 
duties,  and  spoke  of  them  plainly  and  emphatically." 

"It  is,  in  the  end,  as  a  sort  of  whirlwind  of  purifi- 
cation that  one  thinks  of  him,"  said  a  notable 
Englishman. 

And  a  Frenchman  added:  "It  was  a  great  reputa- 
tion that  had  preceded  him,  that  he  was  forced  to 
live  up  to.  He  succeeded.  He  goes  a  greater  man 
in  the  eyes  of  Europe  than  he  was  when  he  came," 

329 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

HE     RETURNS    TO     HIS     OWN    PEOPLE    AND    FIGHTS    A 
GOOD    FIGHT   AGAINST   ODDS 

HE  returned  to  his  own  people  a  greater  man 
than  he  had  been  when  he  went.  His  country- 
men had  been  eagerly  and  anxiously  waiting  for 
him.  During  the  fifteen  months  of  his  absence  the 
struggle  for  popular  government  in  which  for  ten 
years  he  had  been  the  leader  had  been  moving 
swiftly  to  a  crisis.  Signs  of  popular  unrest  had  been 
plentiful,  and  manifest  to  all  except  those  who  stub- 
bornly refused  to  see.  While  Roosevelt  was  Presi- 
dent the  unrest  had  been  sporadic  and  local.  A  ma- 
jority of  the  American  people  which  far  transcended 
the  lines  of  the  Republican  party  was  satisfied  that 
the  administration  of  national  affairs  was  consci- 
entious, efficient,  progressive,  and  free  from  the  con- 
trol of  "special  privilege." 

His  successor  had  inherited  this  popular  con- 
fidence. No  President  for  generations  had  come  to 
office  under  more  favorable  auspices.  On  March 
4,  1909,  a  united  Republican  party  entered  on  a  new 
term  of  service  amid  the  cheers  of  a  united  and 
prosperous  nation  which  asked  nothing  of  it  except 

330 


HE    FIGHTS   A   GOOD    FIGHT 


that  it  should  continue  on  the  road  along  which 
Roosevelt  had  led  it. 

Four  months  later,  almost  to  a  day,  the  new  Presi- 
dent signed  the  Payne- Aldrich  Tariff  bill.     The  plat- 
form on  which  he  had  been  elected  had  pledged  re- 
vision  downward. 
The  bill  as  it  was 
passed  revised  up- 
ward.     Progres- 
sives of  both  par- 
ties   protested. 
The    President 
warmly    defended 
the  bill.     Popular 
confidence   turned 
to  dismay. 

Scandals  within 
the  Cabinet  inten- 
sified the  feeling  of 
distrust.  Many 
of  the  commissions 
which  Roosevelt 
had  appointed 
were  discontinued. 
Notable  projects 
lapsed.     Men  felt 

that  the  conservation  policy  was  imperilled  when 
Gifford  Pinchot,  Chief  Forester,  was  dismissed  for 
insubordination  because  he  protested  against  what 
he  believed  was  the  connivance  of  the  Secretary  of 
the  Interior  in  the  schemes  of  a  group  of  coal  specu- 
lators in  Alaska.     The  American  people  discovered, 

33i 


"my  boy!" 

(From  Harper's  Weekly) 


THEODORE;  ROOSEVELT 

to  their  amazement,  that  the  radical  they  had  elected 
to  carry  on  the  policies  of  Roosevelt's  administration 
had  allied  himself  with  the  most  obdurate  group  of 
reactionaries.  The  forces  which  had  been  struck 
into  impotence  when  Roosevelt  came  to  power  were 
once  more  gaining  control  of  the  government.  When 
Roosevelt  emerged  from  the  jungle,  less  than  a  year 
after  the  inauguration  of  the  new  President,   the 

Republican  party, 
which  he  had  left 

a  solid  and  united 

■mm 

H  @m^  organization, 
pledged  to  progres- 
sive principles,  had 
been  disrupted.  A 
fierce  factional 
fight  was  raging. 
The  "  stand-pat- 
ters" in  Congress, 
under    Aldrich, 

"THINGS    HAVEN'T    BEEN    THE    SAME,         jj^  d   Can 

THEODORE!  '  ' 

(From  the  Cleveland  Plain  Dealer)  Were      Confronted 

by  a  small  group 
of  "insurgents"  under  Borah,  La  Follette,  Bever- 
idge,  and  Cummins.  The  President  stood  with  the 
"stand-patters." 

All  eyes  were  turned  to  Roosevelt.  At  Khartoum 
he  had  refused  to  comment  on  the  political  situation 
in  the  United  States.  Both  factions  hoped  for  his 
support.  Meanwhile  his  triumphal  journey  through 
Europe  greatly  heightened  his  prestige.  In  the 
national  enthusiasm  for  the  returning  hero  party 

332 


HE    FIGHTS    A   GOOD    FIGHT 

lines  played  no  part.  To  the  American  people 
Theodore  Roosevelt  was  no  longer  either  Republican 
or  Democrat.  He  was  the  foremost  American  citi- 
zen and  they  welcomed  him  home  as  such. 

He  arrived  in  New  York  on  June  18th.  He  was 
met  at  Quarantine  by  a  committee  of  prominent 
citizens  and,  after  a  parade  of  water-craft,  taken  on 
a  special  tug  to  the  Battery,  where  the  Mayor  was 
waiting  to  receive  him  with  bands  and  banners  and 
committees  and  a  great  throng  of  American  citizens 
at  the  water's  edge,  hungry  to  catch  a  first  glimpse. 

He  was  driven  up  Broadway,  where,  three  deep, 
along  the  sidewalks,  the  people  of  New  York 
shouted  their  welcome.  Men  and  women  wept  for 
joy.  No  man  had  ever  received  such  an  ovation 
there. 

That  1 8th  of  June  he  reached  the  zenith  of  his 
popular  fame.  Wherever  he  went  crowds  gathered 
about  him,  cheering. 

"It  is  a  kind  of  hysteria,"  he  said  to  a  friend. 
"They  will  be  throwing  rotten  eggs  at  me  soon." 

Roosevelt  was  back  home  again.  Now  the  ques- 
tion was  what  to  do  with  him.  Wild  suggestions 
were  made. 

On  one  thing  only  every  one  seemed  united — 
this  man  of  force  and  boundless  energy  must  be 
utilized  in  the  service  of  the  country;  every  one, 
that  is,  with  a  few  exceptions.  The  exceptions 
wanted  him  to  retire  from  public  life  and  become 
the  Sage  of  Oyster  Bay  until  with  years  he  became 
America's  Grand  Old  Man,  beloved  by  all  because 

333 


THEODORE    ROOSEVELT 

he  should  never  under  any  circumstances  do  any- 
thing to  hurt  anybody's  feelings. 

Such  a  prospect  did  not  allure  Theodore  Roose- 
velt.    He  was  not  made  to  be  a  sage  in  retirement. 

He  was  a  fighter  born  and  bred,  to  whom  no 
champion  of  a  good  cause  appealed  in  vain. 


HURRAH    FOR   TEDDY!" 

(Prom  Collier's  Weekly) 


Before  he  had  been  home  two  weeks  Governor 
Hughes  of  New  York  had  asked  his  support  of  a 
direct-primary  bill.  He  gave  it  whole-heartedly. 
The  opponents  of  the  bill  attacked  him  with  vigor, 
and  at  once,  to  the  distress  of  many  of  his  friends 
who  were  jealous  of  his  great  fame,  but  to  the  sur- 
prise only  of  those  who  did  not  know  him,  he  was 
again  up  to  his  neck  in  politics. 

334 


HE    FIGHTS    A   GOOD    FIGHT 

It  was  truly  a  good  cause  which  called  him.  In 
New  York  State,  as  in  the  nation,  was  raging  the 
struggle  between  the  ''special  interests"  and  the 
people,  between  the  "stand-patters"  who  believed 
that  property  rights  were  supreme,  and  the  "pro- 
gressives" who  believed  with  Roosevelt  that  "hu- 
man rights  must  have  the  upper  hand,  for  property 
belongs  to  man,  and  not  man  to  property."  Both 
the  Republican  and  Democratic  parties  in  the  state 
were  under  the  iron  rule  of  the  bosses  and  the  finan- 
cial interests,  who  at  need  conspired  together,  ir- 
respective of  party,  to  gain  their  sinister  ends. 

Roosevelt's  sympathies  in  such  a  struggle  were 
altogether  with  the  people.  He  realized,  more- 
over, that  to  suppress  the  endeavors  of  the  peo- 
ple to  secure  their  rights  meant,  sooner  or  later, 
revolution. 

While  the  opposing  forces  were  mustering  their 
adherents  during  the  summer  he  made  a  trip  through 
the  Middle  West  in  support  of  those  progressive 
principles  for  whose  success  he  had  fought  so  per- 
sistently as  President.  Here,  as  in  Europe  and  on 
Broadway  that  18th  of  June,  his  journey  was  a 
triumphal  progress.  But  the  enthusiasm  of  the 
enormous  crowds  that  greeted  him  had  a  deeper 
meaning  than  those  other  demonstrations.  For  the 
crowds  that  lined  the  streets  of  Kansas  City,  of 
Omaha,  of  Cheyenne,  that  packed  the  great  Denver 
Auditorium  and  thronged  about  him,  twenty-five 
thousand  strong,  at  Osawatomie,  were  not  moved 
by  curiosity  or  the  effervescent  thrill  of  watching  a 
popular  hero  pass.     Wherever  he  went  he  was  greeted 

335 


THEODORE    ROOSEVELT 

as  a  personal  friend  who  understood,  as  a  very  human 
champion  of  human  rights  against  the  hard  and 
merciless  tyranny  of  organized  greed. 

The  men  and  women  of  the  nation  he  found 
were  in  a  grave  mood.  There  was  a  sense  of  im- 
pending conflict  in  the  air.  The  people  had  grad- 
ually become  conscious  that  they  were  being  de- 
frauded, that  public  interest  was  being  sacrificed 
everywhere  to  private  interests.  Roosevelt  made 
the  issues  clear.  The  rights  of  property,  he  de- 
clared, required  protection.  Whenever  those  rights 
came  into  conflict,  however,  with  human  rights, 
they  must  be  subordinated.     It  was  not  sufficient, 


THE    FAITH    OF    THE 

COMMON   PEOPLE 

"  Now  that  Roosevelt  is  home 

again,  everything  will  be 

all  right" 

(Prom  the  Philadelphia  North  American) 

336 


HE    FIGHTS    A   GOOD    FIGHT 

moreover,  to  play  the  game  fairly  according  to  the 
rules.  Whenever  the  rules  were  shown  to  be  un- 
fair they  should  be  changed. 

At  Osawatomie  he  struck  the  key-note:  "The 
object  of  government  is  the  welfare  of  the  people. 
The  material  progress  and  prosperity  of  a  nation 
are  desirable  chiefly  so  far  as  they  lead  to  the  moral 
and  material  welfare  of  all  good  citizens." 

It  was  an  old  doctrine  that  he  had  preached  per- 
sistently for  twenty  years,  and  put  in  practice  at 
every  opportunity.  His  demands  for  the  regulation 
of  trusts,  for  the  conservation  of  natural  resources, 
were  his  practical  applications  of  it.  ' '  The  interests  " 
had  attacked  him  on  it  in  the  past,  but  those  at- 
tacks were  as  nothing  compared  to  the  drumfire 
with  which  the  metropolitan  newspapers,  represent- 
ing privilege,  now  assailed  him.  At  Osawatomie,  he 
spoke  of  the  ' '  new  nationalism ' '  which  was  gradually 
developing  out  of  the  new  conception  of  the  duties 
of  government,  pointing  out  the  necessity  for  Federal 
action  when  the  separate  states  showed  themselves 
incapable  of  safeguarding  the  public  interest.  The 
phrase  was  taken  up  by  the  hostile  newspapers  and 
made  the  text  of  scathing  denunciations.  The  doc- 
trine it  proclaimed  was  declared  by  the  New  York 
Sun  "more  nearly  revolutionary  than  anything  that 
ever  proceeded  from  the  lips  of  any  American  who 
has  held  high  office  in  our  government." 

Before  Roosevelt  returned  from  the  West,  early 

in  September,  he  was  once  more  the  storm  center 

of  American  politics.     In  New  York  the  Republican 

organization  was  making  a  frantic  effort  to  control 

22  337 


THEODORE    ROOSEVELT 


the  state  convention  that  was  to  nominate  a  Gov- 
ernor. The  forces  of  reaction  were  led  by  the  Vice- 
President,  Sherman  of  Utica,  and  the  battle  turned 
about  the  election  of  the  temporary  chairman  of 
the  convention.  Roosevelt  took  charge  of  the  pro- 
gressive forces  against  the  machine  and  after  a  fierce 
contest  was  victorious.  The  progressives  begged 
him  to  run  for  Governor  himself,  but  he  refused, 

suggesting  Henry  L. 
Stimson,  a  lawyer  who 
had  successfully  pros- 
ecuted the  Sugar 
Trust.  Stimson  was 
nominated. 

The  opposition 
shouted  that  Roose- 
velt, who  was  pre- 
tending to  fight  the 
"bosses,"  •  was  him- 
self the  ' '  boss-boss ' ' 
of  all. 

"I    am   a   leader," 

Roosevelt  replied.   "I 

am  not  a  boss.     The 

difference  between  a  boss  and  a  leader  is  that  the 

leader  leads  and  the  boss  drives." 

The  explanation  was  received  with  scornful 
laughter.  Now  followed  a  campaign  bitter  in  the 
extreme.  The  Republican  machine  leaders  refused 
to  abide  by  the  decision  of  the  convention  and 
made  no  secret  of  their  support  of  Dix,  the  Tammany 
nominee.    They  were  followed  by  the  majority  of 

333 


A   DANIEL 

(From  the  Milwakee  Journal) 


HE    FIGHTS    A    GOOD    FIGHT 

the  great  newspapers  of  the  state  and  by  many 
prominent  Republicans. 

The  attack  centered  on  Roosevelt.  From  the 
beginning  he  was  the  main  issue,  and  though  he 
endeavored  to  make  clear  that  he  had  no  intention 
of  exercising  any  direction  over  Stimson,  if  elected, 
he  remained  the  issue  to  the  end.  The  opposition 
to  him,  which  at  the  opening  of  the  six  weeks'  cam- 
paign was  tempered  by  the  recognition  that  in  de- 
feating the  Albany  bosses  he  had  done  the  state  a 
notable  service,  became  frantic.  "The  interests" 
realized,  as  the  people  themselves  scarcely  realized, 
that  the  victory  of  the  Republicans  under  Roose- 
velt's leadership  meant  not  only  the  dominance  of 
Roosevelt  in  the  Republican  party,  but  also  the 
dominance  of  the  progressive  principles  of  which  he 
was  the  foremost  defender.  But  they  did  not  dare 
fight  him  on  that  issue.  Through  the  newspapers 
which  they  controlled  they  created  the  impression 
that  Roosevelt  was  seeking  to  overthrow  the  Con- 
stitution and  the  rights  of  the  people.  They  de- 
clared that  he  wanted  to  make  himself  dictator. 
They  shouted  that  he  wanted  to  be  king. 

Roosevelt  laughed  at  that.  "They  forget  that 
I've  been  seeing  kings,"  he  remarked,  dryly. 

Party  lines  were  ignored  in  the  struggle,  Republi- 
can reactionaries  combining  with  Democratic  re- 
actionaries to  defeat  the  acknowledged  leader  in  the 
fight  for  the  restoration  to  the  people  of  their  fun- 
damental rights  of  self-government. 

It  is  not  that  Roosevelt  is  aiming  to  be  a  king,  as  they  charge 
[exclaimed  the  New  York  Press,  which  supported  him].     It  is 

339 


THEODORE    ROOSEVELT 

not  that  Roosevelt  is  an  enemy  of  the  courts,  as  they  charge; 
it  is  not  that  Roosevelt  is  seeking  to  foment  discontent  merely 
to  serve  his  own  ambitions,  as  they  charge;  it  is  not  that  Roose- 
velt is  a  madman,  as  they  charge.  It  is  that  Roosevelt  is  leading 
the  American  people,  who  are  going  out  to  battle  against  the 
boss  rule  which  works  in  behalf  of  the  special  interests! 

"The  interests"  did  not  fear  the  coming  of  a 
dictator.     They  feared  the  coming  of  justice. 

The  fight  was  a  struggle  between  the  people  and 
the  forces  of  privilege,  and  the  forces  of  privilege  won. 
Roosevelt  was  disastrously  defeated  not  only  in  New 
York,  but  in  Indiana  and  in  other  states  where  the 
men  he  had  actively  supported  went  down  under  a 
Democratic  landslide.  In  less  than  five  months 
after  his  triumphal  progress  up  Broadway  the  re- 
version he  had  prophesied  was  complete. 

His  enemies  shouted  triumphantly  that  he  was 
discredited  and  politically  dead,  and  "the  man  on 
the  street"  who  had  shouted  himself  hoarse  for 
Roosevelt  five  months  previous  cracked  jokes  about 
the  "poor  back-number  who  thought  he  was  the 
Lord  God  Almighty."  A  man  in  Wisconsin  who 
tried  to  auction  off  a  signed  photograph  of  Theodore 
Roosevelt  was  greeted  with  derisive  laughter  and 
found  no  bidder  at  twenty-five  cents. 

Defeat  was  a  new  experience  to  Roosevelt.  With 
the  motto  in  his  mind,  "When  I'm  through  with  a 
thing  I'm  through  with  it,"  he  bore  it  with  equa- 
nimity and  humor,  knowing  that  the  fight  had  been 
worth  all  that  it  had  cost  him.  Since  his  retire- 
ment from  the  Presidency  he  had  been  a  contribut- 
ing editor  of  the  Outlook,  and  through  its  columns 

34© 


HE    FIGHTS    A    GOOD    FIGHT 

continued  to  fight  for  the  cause  he  had  at  heart. 
The  delight  of  his  opponents  in  the  triumph  of  the 
Democrats  in  the  state  was  short-lived.  As  he  had 
prophesied,  Tammany  Hall  took  complete  control 
of  the  new  Governor.  Roosevelt  found  a  certain 
grim  satisfaction  in  the  wails  of  disillusionment  that 
came  from  the  newspapers  which  had  insisted  so 
violently  on  electing  the  wrong  man. 

The  strength  of  the  progressive  element  in  the 
Republican  party  steadily  grew  as  the  months  went 
by.  In  the  West  there  was  sentiment  for  La  Follette 
for  President,  but  the  East  believed  him,  not  un- 
justly, to  be  brilliant  but  ill-balanced,  a  vigorous 
fighter,  but  personally  pompous  and  vain,  and  in- 
tellectually radical  in  the  extreme.  They  turned  to 
Roosevelt  as  to  their  natural  leader.  Early  in  191 2 
La  Follette's  supporters  in  the  West  joined  the 
progressives  in  the  East  in  a  demand  that  Roosevelt 
agree  to  run. 

To  friends  Roosevelt  stated  that  he  did  not  wish 
to  be  a  candidate,  that  he  did  not  want  the  office 
again,  that  he  had  everything  to  lose  and  nothing 
to  gain  by  entering  the  contest;  but  that,  if  there 
should  be  a  popular  demand  for  him  he  should  not 
refuse  to  be  drafted.  The  supporters  of  other  can- 
didates were  struggling  for  delegates.  He  stated 
again  and  again  that  he  did  not  wish  any  attempts 
made  to  secure  delegates  pledged  to  him.  But  the 
trend  toward  him  became  day  by  day  more  definite 
and  unmistakable. 

On  February  10,  191 2,  the  progressive  Republican 
Governors  of  seven  states  met  in  Chicago  and  sent 

34i 


THEODORE    ROOSEVELT 

him  a  formal  letter  asking  him  to  become  a  candidate 
for  the  Presidency.  Two  weeks  later  he  sent  his  ac- 
ceptance.   In  his  own  phrase, ' '  his  hat  was  in  the  ring. ' ' 

Now  began  a  fierce  fight  between  the  factions  of 
the  party  for  delegates  and  for  control  of  the  con- 
vention which  was  to  meet  in  Chicago  in  June. 
The  President  was  the  candidate  of  the  conservatives, 
the  "stand-patters."  Popular  sentiment,  from  the 
very  first,  was  against  him.  In  March  the  results 
of  primary  elections  in  different  states  began  to 
show  with  unmistakable  clearness  that  the  rank  and 
file  of  the  party  wished  to  have  Roosevelt  as  their 
candidate.  One  state  after  another,  including  the 
President's  own,  declared  itself  for  him  by  an  over- 
whelming majority. 

But  the  National  Committee,  not  the  rank  and 
file,  was  to  have  charge  of  the  convention,  and  the 
National  Committee  was  controlled  by  the  "stand- 
patters." When,  early  in  June,  the  convention 
met  in  Chicago,  they  exercised  this  control  with 
cynical  disregard  of  the  verdict  the  primaries  had 
delivered.  Many  of  the  "bosses"  who  during  these 
June  days  relentlessly  excluded  from  the  convention 
delegates  pledged  to  Roosevelt  were  merely  crooked 
politicians  trying  to  save  their  own  skins;  but  the 
foremost  among  them,  men  like  Elihu  Root  and  the 
President,  in  whose  behalf  the  unjust  struggle  was 
carried  on,  sincerely  believed  that  a  great  principle 
was  at  stake  and  that  Roosevelt  was  seeking  to 
undermine  the  Constitution.  They  fought  as  men 
fight  for  a  religion  whose  foundation  appears  to 
them  threatened. 

342 


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HE    FIGHTS    A    GOOD    FIGHT 

But  Roosevelt  and  the  progressives,  too,  were 
fighting  for  a  principle.  To  them  the  battle  was  a 
battle  for  social  justice  against  "the  powers  of  the 
darkness  of  this  world,"  and  they  were  willing  to 
be  flung  to  the  lions  for  it.  Between  two  groups 
thus  arrayed  there  was  no  hope  for  a  saving 
compromise. 

The  National  Committee  gave  no  quarter;  they 
made  no  attempt  to  deal  justly  with  the  claims  of 
delegates  opposed  to  them.  Before  the  convention 
was  ready  to  vote  on  candidates,  the  progressive 
members  withdrew.  In  a  neighboring  hall  they  held 
a  meeting  and  organized  a  new  National  Progressive 
party. 

The  Republican  convention  nominated  the  Presi- 
dent without  further  opposition;  the  Democratic 
party,  meeting  shortly  after  at  Baltimore,  nomi- 
nated Woodrow  Wilson,  Governor  of  New  Jersey. 

On  August  6th  delegates  of  the  new  Progressive 
party  met  at  Chicago  and  held  a  convention  such 
as  had  never  before  been  held  in  the  history  of 
American  politics.  The  clap-trap,  the  iron  rule  of 
a  small  group,  the  sordid  bickering  and  bargaining 
of  cheap  politicians — all  were  absent.  Instead, 
there  was  the  deep  religious  enthusiasm  of  a  revival 
meeting.  The  prayers  that  were  spoken  were  not 
perfunctory,  but  rather  the  devout  expression  of  a 
great  desire  for  unselfish  and  successful  service. 
Men  and  women  were  there  whose  lives  had  been 
devoted  to  the  public  good  and  who  saw  in  this 
meeting  the  coming  to  fulfilment  of  the  dreams  of 
a  lifetime;    politicians  were  there,  "professionals  in 

343 


THEODORE    ROOSEVELT 


the  game,"  who  turned  against  their  own  past  as 
they  caught  a  gleam  of  something  higher  than  any- 
thing they  had  known  before.  In  a  sense,  the  meet- 
ing was  not  a  political  convention  at  all,  but  a  gath- 
ering of  crusaders,  who  sang  "Onward,  Christian 
Soldiers,"  and  the  "Battle  Hymn  of  the  Republic" 

with  the  rapt  de- 
votion of  men 
"who  meet  at  Ar- 
mageddon to  bat- 
tle for  the  Lord." 

Truly,  the  Amer- 
ican people  were  in 
a  grave  mood. 

Roosevelt  made 
a  notable  speech,  a 
"Confession  of 
Faith"  which 
stirred  the  dele- 
gates to  wild  en- 
thusiasm and  won 
the  admiration 
even  of  his  enemies.  He  was  nominated  for  Presi- 
dent by  acclamation. 

In  the  campaign  that  followed,  as  in  1910,  Roose- 
velt was  the  target  for  the  shafts  of  both  Republi- 
cans and  Democrats.  He  was  attacked  with  the 
utmost  virulence  by  the  newspapers  of  both  parties, 
abused  as  a  "dangerous  demagogue"  of  "unparal- 
leled viciousness  and  dishonesty,"  shameless,  revo- 
lutionary, hypocritical,  self-seeking,  an  ambitious 
Aaron  Burr,  "eager  to  use  fraud." 

344 


LAYING   THE    FOUNDATIONS 

(.From  the  Boston  Journal) 


HE    FIGHTS    A    GOOD    FIGHT 

He  fought  back  with  all  the  power  that  was  in 
him.  Most  of  the  men  with  whom  he  had  been  as- 
sociated in  the  past  turned  against  him.  One 
friendship  after  another  he  saw  shattered.  He 
fought  on,  struggling  forward  over  the  prostrate 
bodies  of  friend  and  foe  alike.  He  spared  others  no 
more  than  he  spared  himself.  To  him  in  this  battle 
individuals  no  longer  mattered.  The  cause  was  all. 
He  gave  himself  to  the  cause  with  his  whole  soul. 

The  leader,  for  the  time  being,  whoever  he  may  be,  is  but  an 
instrument,  to  be  used  until  broken  and  then  to  be  cast  aside; 
and  if  he  is  worth  his  salt  he  will  care  no  more  when  he  is  broken 
than  a  soldier  cares  when  he  is  sent  where  his  life  is  forfeit 
in  order  that  the  victory  may  be  won.  In  the  long  fight  for 
righteousness  the  watchword  for  all  of  us  is  spend  and  be  spent. 
It  is  of  little  matter  whether  any  one  man  fails  or  succeeds; 
but  the  cause  shall  not  fail,  for  it  is  the  cause  of  mankind. 
We,  here  in  America,  hold  in  our  hands  the  hope  of  the  world, 
the  fate  of  the  coming  years;  and  shame  and  disgrace  will  be 
ours  if  in  our  eyes  the  light  of  high  resolve  is  dimmed,  if  we 
trail  in  the  dust  the  golden  hopes  of  men. 

He  campaigned  in  different  parts  of  the  country- 
most  of  the  summer  and  autumn.  On  the  evening 
of  October  14th  he  was  to  speak  at  Milwaukee.  He 
had  dined  at  the  Gilpatrick  Hotel  and  was  cheered 
by  a  throng  outside  as  he  crossed  the  sidewalk  to 
enter  the  automobile  that  was  to  take  him  to  the 
Auditorium. 

Suddenly,  out  of  the  dark  crowd  in  the  dimly 
lighted  street  beyond,  a  man  stepped  forward, 
raised  his  right  arm,  and  at  ten  feet  distance  fired 
point  blank  at  the  ex-President. 

345 


THEODORE    ROOSEVELT 

The  men  who  were  with  him  sprang  on  the  assail- 
ant. Roosevelt  sank  back  in  the  automobile.  But 
in  an  instant  he  was  on  his  feet  again.  "Stop!" 
he  called  to  the  men  who  were  struggling  with  the 
assassin.     "Don't  hurt  him.     Bring  him  to  me." 

The  man  was  lifted  up.  For  an  instant  the  assail- 
ant and  the  man  he  had  sought  to  kill  stood  face 
to  face.  Then  the  assassin  was  turned  over  to  the 
police. 

"Now  to  the  hospital!"  some  one  cried. 

"You  get  me  to  that  speech!"  ordered  Roosevelt, 
with  savage  emphasis.  "It  may  be  the  last  one  I 
shall  ever  make." 

His  friends  protested,  but  he  stood  firm.  In  an 
anteroom  of  the  Auditorium  he  consented  to  have 
a  clean  handkerchief  tied  over  the  wound.  Then 
he  walked  to  the  stage.  Ten  thousand  men  and 
women  roared  a  welcome.  The  chairman  quietly 
told  the  audience  that  the  ex-President  had  been 
shot,  and  a  roar  of  anger  shook  the  hall  that  was 
succeeded  by  a  deafening  roar  of  applause  as  Roose- 
velt came  forward  to  speak. 

He  drew  the  manuscript  of  his  speech  from  his 
right-hand  breast  pocket.  A  shudder  ran  through 
the  audience.  There  were  two  bullet  holes  in  each 
sheet.  The  manuscript  had  been  folded.  One  hun- 
dred thicknesses  of  paper  had  served  to  save  his  life. 

He  began  his  speech  a  little  ramblingly,  for  the 
sight  of  the  manuscript  had  for  an  instant  shaken 
even  his  iron  nerves.  Then  he  proceeded  with  his 
speech.  His  friends  on  the  platform,  one  after  an- 
other, tried  to  interrupt  him,  to  persuade  him  to 

346 


HE    FIGHTS    A    GOOD    FIGHT 

allow  himself  to  be  taken  to  the  hospital  to  have  the 
wound  attended  to.  He  insisted  on  saying  what  he 
had  to  say.  For  an  hour  and  a  half  with  a  bullet 
in  his  breast  he  defended  the  principles  of  the  pro- 
gressive cause. 

"I  tell  you  with  absolute  truthfulness,"  he  said, 
"I  am  not  thinking  of  my  own  life,  I  am  not  think- 
ing of  my  own  success.  I  am  thinking  only  of  the 
success  of  this  great  cause." 

When  he  had  finished,  he  consented  to  be  taken 
to  the  hospital.  The  bullet,  he  found,  had  passed 
within  half  an  inch  of  his  right  lung.  The  man 
who  had  fired  it  was  a  poor  insane  wretch  who  had 
been  led  by  the  denunciation  of  Roosevelt  in  the 
newspapers  to  believe  that  he  had  a  call  from 
Heaven  to  remove  this  "menace  to  American 
liberties." 

Governor  Wilson  offered  at  once  to  cease  cam- 
paigning, but  Roosevelt  refused  to  allow  himself 
thus  to  be  favored. 

' '  The  welfare  of  any  one  man  in  this  fight  is  wholly 
immaterial,"  he  answered.  "This  is  not  a  contest 
about  any  man;  it  is  a  contest  concerning  prin- 
ciples. ...  I  shall  be  sorry  if  Mr.  Wilson  does  not 
keep  on  the  stump." 

The  campaign  went  on.  Roosevelt's  extraordi- 
nary constitution  asserted  itself  and  in  a  fortnight 
he  was  once  more  speaking  to  the  American  people. 

The  election  was  held  on  November  5th.  Wood- 
row  Wilson  was  elected. 


CHAPTER  XIX 

HE  GOES  OUT  AFTER  NEW  ADVENTURES  AND  NEARLY 
FINDS  THE  GREATEST  OF  ALL 

ONCE  more  Theodore  Rooseveit  had  been  de- 
feated. Being  a  wise  observer  of  political  cur- 
rents, he  had  scarcely  expected  to  win.  It  was  a 
Democratic  year,  with  the  Democratic  party  every- 
where overwhelmingly  victorious.  Republicans 
blamed  Roosevelt  bitterly  for  the  Democratic  land- 
slide and  for  the  complete  disruption  of  their  own 
party,  refusing  to  see  that  the  party  had  been  dis- 
rupted not  by  Roosevelt,  but  by  the  reactionary 
forces  which  had  turned  it  from  the  course  in  which 
Roosevelt  as  President  had  led  it  to  success.  The 
winds  of  controversy  continued  to  beat  about  his 
head.  Roosevelt  let  them  blow  and  sat  down  and 
wrote  his  autobiography.  Through  the  Outlook  he 
continued  to  swing  his  broadsword  for  progressive 
principles;  and  once  in  court  he  swung  it  most 
effectively  in  defense  of  his  own  personal  reputation. 
For  an  editor  in  Michigan  had  rashly  expressed  in 
print  the  charge  that  had  been  current  here  and 
there  during  the  campaign,  that  Roosevelt  was  a 
hard   and  habitual   drinker.     Roosevelt   sued   him 

348 


NEW    ADVENTURES 

for  libel,  supported  by  an  array  of  "character  wit- 
nesses" that  included  former  Cabinet  ministers  and 
ambassadors,  ministers  of  the  Gospel,  social  workers 
and  temperance  workers,  soldiers,  editors,  journal- 
ists, naturalists,  hunters,  secret  service  men,  and 
household  servants.  That  lie  he  was  determined  to 
nail,  and  he  nailed  it. 

He  disposed  of  the  Michigan  slanderer  in  June. 
A  month  later  he  was  on  the  rim  of  the  Grand 
Canon  of  the  Colorado  with  his  younger  sons,  Archie 
and  Quentin,  hunting  cougar.  He  himself  this  time 
carried  no  gun.  This  was  their  own  particular  holi- 
day, and  he  who  wished  his  sons  to  serve  their  ap- 
prenticeship in  the  great  world  of  hardship  and  ad- 
venture was  glad  to  leave  the  thrills  of  it  to  them. 
From  the  gorgeous  country  above  the  canon,  fresh 
with  pine  and  spruce  and  clear  springs,  he  led  them 
into  the  grim  desolation  of  the  Navajo  Desert.  It 
was  a  world  of  incredible  wildness  and  desolate 
majesty,  savage,  grotesque,  terrible.  Lizards  and 
rattlesnakes  were  there,  the  only  living  things.  Only 
at  the  water-holes,  ten  or  fifteen  miles  apart,  they 
met  an  occasional  group  of  Indians,  watering  their 
flocks. 

At  Tuba  they  rested  for  a  day,  then  moved  north- 
ward through  the  parched,  mountainous  landscape 
to  the  upper  reaches  of  cedar  and  pine  at  March 
Pass;  and  on,  with  their  pack-train,  past  villages 
of  the  cliff-dwellers  in  ruins,  through  emerald  valleys 
of  magical  luxuriance,  to  the  foot  of  the  Navajo 
Mountains;  and  again  on,  through  an  eerie  wilder- 
ness over  a  perilous  trail  that  was  no  trail  at  all, 

349 


THEODORE    ROOSEVELT 

by  ghastly  precipices,  to  the  gorge  of  the  Natural 
Bridge.  To  right  and  left  loomed  enormous  cliffs 
bounded  each  to  each  by  a  triumphal  arch  of  in- 
conceivable majesty. 

They  bathed  in  the  dark  pool  beneath. 

For  three  days  they  retraced  their  steps,  then 
crossed  the  Black  Mesa  to  climb  at  last  the  steep 
and  narrow  rock-ridge  on  whose  summits  in  bold 
outline  against  the  blue  sky  rose  the  three  rock 
villages  of  the  Hopi. 

In  one  of  them  a  snake-dance  was  to  be  held. 

The  villages  were  crowded  with  visitors,  but  of 
the  men  not  of  the  tribe  Roosevelt  alone,  as  a  former 
Great  Chief  at  Washington,  was  admitted  to  the 
sacred  room,  the  kiva,  in  which  the  snake-priests 
had  for  a  fortnight  been  preparing  for  the  sacred 
dance.  He  entered  the  chamber  through  a  hole  in 
the  roof.  Squatting  on  the  floor  were  eight  or  ten 
priests,  lithe,  sinewy,  naked,  copper-red.  On  a  dais 
against  the  wall  near  by  lay  intertwined  a  moving 
mass  of  thirty  or  more  rattlesnakes. 

A  priest  spread  a  blanket  for  him,  and  he  sat 
down  with  his  back  to  the  snakes,  scarcely  three 
yards  away.  A  snake  glided  sinuously  toward  him. 
He  pointed  him  out  to  the  guardian  of  the  snakes, 
who  stroked  it  gently  with  a  fan  of  four  eagle  feathers 
until  it  turned  and  crawled  back.  A  half-dozen 
times  other  snakes  drew  silently  near  and  were 
quietly  repulsed.  One  escaped  the  eye  of  the  watcher 
and  passed  within  six  inches  of  Roosevelt's  knee.  A 
priest  on  the  other  side  threw  a  pinch  of  dust  in  its 
face.    The  watcher  stroked  it,  and  it  too  withdrew, 

35© 


NEW    ADVENTURES 

Two  days  later  Roosevelt  descended  into  the 
temple  room  for  the  ceremony  of  the  washing  of  the 
snakes. 

There  were  twenty  priests  in  the  room,  and 
eighty  or  a  hundred  snakes  lay  singly  or  in  tangled 
groups  about  on  the  dais.  Two  priests  stood  near 
the  snakes,  two  stood  beside  a  rude  altar  at  the 
farther  end  of  the  room,  a  half-dozen  surrounded 
a  great  wooden  bowl  of  water  in  the  middle. 

The  chief  priest  near  the  bowl  began  to  chant 
softly  and  the  other  priests  swayed  to  the  rhythm, 
uttering  now  and  then  a  single  word  or  exclamation 
in  unison,  shaking  the  sacred  rattles.  Gradually 
their  calm  gave  way  to  intense,  restrained  emotion. 
The  chanting  increased  in  fervor.  Now  the  two 
men  nearest  the  dais  each  picked  up  a  handful  of 
rattlesnakes  and  quietly  handed  them  to  two  of 
the  Indians  squatting  about  the  bowl.  The  chant- 
ing continued.  The  priests  returned  and  picked  up 
each  another  handful  of  the  poisonous  serpents  and 
delivered  them  to  one  of  the  priests  about  the  bowl; 
again  they  gathered  a  handful,  and  again  and  once 
again,  until  each  squatting  Indian  about  the  bowl 
held  three  or  four  of  the  venomous  snakes. 

Then  suddenly  the  chanting  quickened  and  rose 
to  a  scream,  and  at  the  same  instant  the  priests 
plunged  the  snakes  into  the  water,  drew  them  as 
suddenly  forth  again,  and  hurled  them  half  across 
the  room  on  and  about  the  altar. 

The  snakes  began  to  glide  rapidly  in  every  direc- 
tion. Priests  with  feather  fans  gently  herded  them 
back. 

351 


THEODORE    ROOSEVELT 

The  ceremony  was  repeated  until  all  the  snakes 
had  been  washed.  Then  again  the  chief  priest 
prayed  and  the  others  chanted,  slowly  and  ever 
more  slowly.  The  noise  of  the  rattles  died.  The 
chant  died.     The  ceremony  was  over. 

Roosevelt  returned  home  from  the  Southwest  in 
August  (19 13).  Two  months  later  he  was  aboard  the 
Lamport  and  Holt  S.  S.  Vandyck,  steaming  south- 
ward in  quest  of  new  adventures.  He  had  been 
invited  to  speak  before  certain  learned  societies  in 
South  America  on  the  problems  of  government  in 
a  democracy,  and  had  accepted  with  zest,  seeing  in 
the  invitation  an  opportunity  to  carry  out  an  old 
and  cherished  plan  of  his  to  explore  the  jungles  of 
Brazil. 

He  reached  Rio  de  Janeiro  the  middle  of  October, 
and  for  six  weeks  traveled  on  the  beaten  trail  south- 
west to  Montevideo  in  Uruguay,  and  Buenos  Aires 
in  the  Argentine ;  northwest  to  Tucuman ;  southwest 
again  across  the  Andes  to  Valparaiso  and  Santiago 
de  Chile ;  straight  south  to  the  borders  of  Patagonia ; 
and  then  once  more  across  the  Andes  by  ox-train 
through  wild  and  wonderful  country  northeastward 
back  to  Buenos  Aires.  Much  of  the  country  was 
like  the  ranch  country  of  the  West  he  knew  so  well, 
but  the  inland  cities  were  quaint  and  strange  and 
the  seaboard  capitals  had  a  mature  beauty  that  was 
more  like  the  Old  World  than  the  New. 

His  journey  might  have  been  a  continuation  of 
his  triumphant  passage  through  Europe.  Every- 
where he  was  given  the  honors  of  a  reigning  sover- 

352 


NEW   ADVENTURES 

eign  and  greeted  by  the  crowds  that  lined  the  streets 
and  thronged  the  squares  with  extraordinary  en- 
thusiasm. Here  as  in  Europe  he  spoke  fearlessly 
and  directly,  wasting  no  breath  on  empty  flattery. 
Again  and  again  he  thrust  at  the  habit  of  revolution 
as  the  worst  foe  of  democratic  progress ;  he  discussed 
the  Monroe  doctrine;  he  eloquently  defended  his 
action  in  regard  to  Panama. 

They  called  him  an  hombre  mundial,  a  world  man, 
belonging  not  to  one  race  or  country,  but  to  the  whole 
of  humanity;  and  again  they  said,  "Roosevelt  is 
the  United  States,"  typical  of  all  that  was  best  in 
a  great  progressive  land.  "He  speaks  the  truth," 
they  said,   "because  he  speaks  from  the  heart." 

To  Roosevelt  this  six  weeks'  succession  of  ever- 
changing  scenes  and  men  was  one  of  absorbing  in- 
terest; and  years  of  popular  favor  had  failed  to 
make  him  blase  to  the  cheering  of  great  crowds. 
But  he  loved  adventure  even  more  than  he  loved 
politics,  and  he  was  not  sorry  when,  early  in  Decem- 
ber, accompanied  by  Kermit,  who  was  on  engineer- 
ing work  in  South  America,  and  Father  Zahm,  him- 
self an  explorer,  he  left  the  cheering  crowds  of 
Buenos  Aires  behind  him  for  Asuncion,  and  four 
days  later  left  Asuncion  and  the  civilized  world  for 
the  jungles  of  Brazil. 

The  President  of  Paraguay  had  put  his  own  gun- 
boat-yacht at  the  disposal  of  the  Roosevelt  party 
for  the  ascent  of  the  Paraguay,  and  day  after  day 
they  steamed  northward  through  the  level  ranch 
country  under  the  tropic  heat,  mooring  now  and 
again  by  picturesque  old  towns  whose  history  went 
23  353 


THEODORE    ROOSEVELT 

back  three  hundred  years  to  the  conquistadores,  or 
stopping  for  wood  at  quaint  settlements  where 
scantily  clad  Indians  gazed  at  them  curiously.  At 
the  Brazilian  border  they  were  met  by  Colonel 
Rondon,  an  intrepid  explorer  of  the  upper  Amazon 
whom  the  Brazilian  government  had  put  at  Roose- 
velt's disposal;  and  at  Corumba  by  Fiala,  Cherrie, 
and  Miller,  the  naturalists  assigned  to  the  party 
by  the  Museum  of  Natural  History,  under  whose 
auspices  Roosevelt  was  to  make  his  explorations. 
From  Corumba  they  took  a  week's  hunting-trip 
up  the  Taquary  after  jaguar  and  peccary,  then,  on 
Christmas  Day,  again  proceeded  up  the  Paraguay 
in  a  shallow  little  steamer  they  had  chartered  to 
take  them  and  their  paraphernalia  to  the  great  wil- 
derness, the  matto  grosso,  of  western  Brazil.  After  a 
day  they  branched  off  into  the  swirling  brown  waters 
of  the  Sao  Lourenco,  then  into  the  Cuyaba.  Now, 
to  right  and  left,  was  the  dense  foliage  of  the  tropics, 
splashed  here  and  there  with  brilliant  flowers. 
They  passed  the  thatched  huts  of  an  Indian  fishing- 
village  half  hidden  under  luxuriant  branches,  then 
came  once  more  into  open  cattle  country,  where  a 
ranch-owner  welcomed  them  and  for  three  days 
gave  them  hospitality  and  good  hunting.  They  re- 
turned to  the  Sao  Lourenco  and  steamed  slowly 
southward  through  wet  and  stifling  weather,  anchor- 
ing a  day  after,  once  more  to  hunt  jaguar  in  the 
dense  wilderness.  Through  the  jungle  on  foot, 
drenched  with  sweat,  torn  by  the  spines  of  innumer- 
able small  palms,  bitten  by  mosquitoes  and  fire  ants 
that  swarmed  in  the  humid  thickets,  and  stung  by 

354 


NEW   ADVENTURES 

the  red  wasps  that  on  occasions  had  been  known 
to  kill,  they  followed  the  trail.  They  waded  up  to 
the  hips  through  the  marshes,  and  twice,  with  their 
guns  held  over  their  heads,  swam  long  bayous 
through  marsh  grass  and  slime.  The  heat  was 
terrific.  There  was  no  breath  of  air.  They  had 
left  the  camp  at  dawn.  It  was  after  midday.  They 
had  had  nothing  to  eat. 

Fiala,  who  had  remained  on  the  boat,  heard  a 
call  on  the  bank  late  that  afternoon.  It  was  one 
of  the  Indians  who  had  accompanied  the  hunting- 
party. 

"Burroo-gurra-harru,"  he  muttered,  fell  into  a 
corner,  and  went  to  sleep. 

Twenty  minutes  later  another  Indian  stumbled 
out  of  the  forest.  "Plenty  work — tired,"  he  cried, 
and  fell  and  also  went  to  sleep.  A  third  Indian  came 
and  dropped  on  the  deck. 

Worried  for  the  safety  of  the  hunters,  Fiala  started 
out  with  a  relief  party.  The  sun  was  setting.  In 
a  clearing  a  short  distance  from  the  river  he  came 
upon  one  of  the  Brazilian  officers,  lying  exhausted 
on  the  ground,  his  clothes  torn,  his  face  and  neck 
covered  with  dust  and  blood. 

They  sent  him  to  camp  under  the  care  of  three 
natives,  and  pushed  on.  In  a  clearing  beyond, 
under  the  last  slanting  rays  of  the  sun,  they  came 
on  Roosevelt  and  Kermit,  dragging  another  Brazil- 
ian officer  through  the  jungle.  Roosevelt's  clothes 
were  in  tatters,  but  on  his  grimy  face  was  a  look  of 
warlike  determination. 

"All  right,  Colonel?"  called  Fiala. 
355 


THEODORE    ROOSEVELT 

"I'm  bully,"  answered  Roosevelt. 

The  Brazilians  were  laid  up  for  two  days,  but 
Roosevelt  and  Kermit  were  about,  as  though  noth- 
ing out  of  the  ordinary  had  happened.  The  Indians 
looked  on  them  thereafter  with  a  new  awe. 

They  returned  to  the  Paraguay  and  steamed 
northward  once  more  through  marshy  country  to 
Sao  Luis  de  Caceres,  where  they  exchanged  their 
little  steamer  for  a  launch  and  dugouts  and  moved 
northward  again  up  the  swift,  clear  water  of  the 
River  of  Tapirs.  Now  and  again  they  hunted  in  the 
dense  forest  that  rose  from  the  river-bank  like  a 
wall,  the  trees  matted  with  vines,  the  lower  growth 
an  almost  impenetrable  jungle.  In  one  grove  shoots 
of  fig-trees  were  creeping  murderously  over  the 
palms  and  slowly  strangling  them.  It  was  a  sinister 
place,  evil  and  dark  and  silent. 

Slowly  they  steamed  northward,  now  and  then 
passing  a  lonely  ranch,  now  gliding  through  pitiless 
wilderness,  now  mooring  by  some  clearing  of  ex- 
quisite beauty  of  palms  and  violet  orchids  and 
butterflies  of  gorgeous  coloring.  The  current  be- 
came more  rapid.  Here  and  there  they  ran  into 
broken  water. 

The  middle  of  January  they  reached  Tapirapoan 
and,  leaving  the  river  behind,  proceeded  with  horses, 
pack-mules,  and  oxen  into  the  highland  wilderness. 
Their  course  lay  for  a  day  through  dense  tropical 
forests  where  the  machetes  had  to  cut  a  trail  for 
them  as  they  went ;  then  up  on  a  high  sandy  plateau 
of  coarse  grass  and  stunted,  twisted  trees,  where  the 
air  that  blew  over  the  limitless,  rolling  plains  was 

3S6 


NEW   ADVENTURES 

cool  and  wonderful  and  full  of  vigor.  Day  after 
day  they  moved  forward,  camping  now  and  then  by 
pleasant  streams,  with  pampas-deer  to  eat  and  tales 
of  marvelous  adventure  to  exchange  beside  the  camp- 
fire.  The  weather  was  cloudy  or  wet,  for  the  rainy 
season  was  on,  but  the  desolate  country  had  a  charm 
of  its  own  for  one  who  loved  great  open  spaces, 
and  here  and  there  were  splashes  of  unexpected 
beauty. 

They  came  at  last  to  a  native  village,  where  the 
Sacred  River  breaks  in  majestic,  thunderous  falls. 
The  natives  were  friendly,  for  Colonel  Rondon  was 
a  counselor  and  guardian  loved  of  old,  and  received 
the  explorers  without  fear  or  shyness.  At  this  vil- 
lage they  spent  the  night,  then  pushed  on  through 
pouring  rain  to  the  Falls  of  Utiarity,  where  the  river 
dropped  from  a  great  shelving  rock  amid  the  tow- 
ering growth  of  the  tropical  forest,  three  hundred 
feet  to  the  gorge  of  swirling  water  below.  Here, 
too,  there  was  a  village  where  the  natives  played 
head-ball  when  the  weather  cleared  at  last,  and 
danced  and  chanted  in  their  honor. 

At  Utiarity  the  party  separated,  Father  Zahm 
returning  to  Tapirapoan  and  Fiala  proceeding  north- 
ward to  explore  the  Rio  Papagaio,  while  Roosevelt 
with  the  other  members  of  the  expedition  turned 
eastward  into  the  wild  region  of  the  naked  Nhambi- 
quaras.  Day  after  day  now  they  crossed  desolate 
country,  passing  skeletons  of  mules  and  oxen  and 
little  barbed-wire  inclosures  which  marked  the 
graves  of  men  who  had  died  on  the  road.  They 
drove  a  dozen  steers  ahead  of  them  for  food  on  their 

357 


THEODORE    ROOSEVELT 

journey,  but  there  was  no  forage.  The  mules  as  well 
as  the  oxen  weakened.  Nine  of  them  dropped  be- 
hind in  the  first  three  days.  They  pushed  on 
through  tropical  heat,  now  and  then  coming  on 
parties  of  Nhambiquaras,  some  clad  in  a  string  of 
beads,  most  of  them  without  even  that  adornment. 
They  saw  the  savages  dance  in  the  moonlight  and 
heard  them  singing  their  weirdy  wailing  chants. 

They  crossed  the  headwaters- of  the  Tapajos,  fer- 
ried across  by  a  native  soldier  who  guarded  the  tel- 
egraph line  which  Colonel  Rondon  had  constructed 
far  up  into  the  wilderness.  The  country  now  be- 
came more  hilly,  with  many  swollen  rivers  which 
they  waded  or  crossed  by  rude  native  bridges. 
At  last  they  came  to  a  large  basin  cut  into  swampy 
valleys  covered  with  tropical  forest  and  rich  pastures, 
into  which  the  animals  quickly  turned.  There  was 
respite  here  from  the  torment  of  the  insects,  and 
they  rested  a  day ;  then  moved  on  once  more  up  and 
through  steep  valleys  and  broad  basins  where  giant 
rubber-trees  towered  above  the  wild  bananas.  Azure 
butterflies  flitted  through  the  sunny  glades;  bell- 
birds  called  through  the  huge  silence  of  the  forest. 
Now  through  dreary  wastes  they  went,  now  through 
fertile  basins,  now  into  dark  forests  and  out  into 
open  cattle  country.  At  a  cluster  of  huts  called 
Bonifacio  they  paused  for  a  day  and  once  more 
divided  the  party.  Miller  and  three  of  the  Brazil- 
ians moved  on  to  descend  the  Gy-Parana  to  Manoas ; 
Roosevelt,  Rondon,  Kermit,  Cherrie,  and  two  of 
the  other  Brazilians,  with  sixteen  paddlers  and 
seven   dugouts,  proceeded   to  the  bank  of  the  un- 

353 


NEW    ADVENTURES 

explored  stream  near  by,  known  as  the  River  of 
Doubt. 

On  the  afternoon  of  February  27  th  the  Roosevelt 
party  started  down  the  river.  The  swollen  torrent 
was  swift  and  brown,  and  of  the  canoes  one  was 
small,  one  was  cranky,  and  two  were  old,  water- 
logged, and  leaky.  All  were  overladen.  The  pad- 
dlers,  lithe  as  panthers  and  brawny  as  bears,  were 
expert  watermen. 

The  expedition  proceeded  slowly,  for  Rondon  and 
Kermit  had  undertaken  the  arduous  task  of  survey- 
ing the  river's  tortuous  course.  To  right  and  left 
was  dense  forest  with  little  wild  life,  only  here  and 
there  a  monkey  and  some  bright-plumaged  parakeet 
or  venomous  coral-snake.  Four  days  through  vary- 
ing weather  they  drifted  leisurely  down-stream, 
camping  at  the  river's  edge.  The  silent  forest  had 
a  deep  fascination  of  its  own.  Where  they  slowly 
went  no  white  man  had  ever  gone  before. 

On  the  fourth  day  the  current  quickened.  They 
heard  rapids  ahead,  and  ran  the  unwieldy  canoes 
ashore  while  they  pushed  forward  on  foot.  They 
found  that  the  river-bed,  which  not  a  mile  above 
was  a  hundred  yards  wide,  here  narrowed  in  one 
place  to  six  feet  or  less,  gushing  torrentially  through 
a  craggy  gorge. 

The  rapids  were  far  too  wild  to  run  in  the  canoes, 
and  for  two  and  a  half  days  they  labored,  carrying 
the  heavy  dugouts,  with  their  cargo,  a  mile  through 
the  dense  jungle.  They  chopped  a  road  through  the 
forest  and,  harnessed  two  by  two  on  the  rope,  dragged 
the  heavy  boats  along  six-foot  rollers,  bumping  and 

359 


THEODORE    ROOSEVELT 

sliding.  It  was  laborious  business,  and  the  faces 
and  hands  of  all  were  swollen  with  the  bites  and 
stings  of  countless  insects. 

They  started  once  more  on  the  river  that  wound 
in  and  out  in  endless  curves  through  scenes  of  cap- 
tivating beauty;  then  came  to  rapids  once  more. 
Three  days  they  portaged,  paddled  half  a  day,  and 
portaged  another.  Then,  one  night  as  they  were 
sleeping,  the  river  unexpectedly  rose,  swamping  two 
of  the  water-logged  canoes,  so  that  they  broke  from 
their  moorings  and  were  crushed.  Now  followed 
days  of  sweating  labor  with  ax  and  adz,  making  a 
new  dugout  from  the  trunk  of  a  huge  tree  near  the 
camp.  The  forest  round  about  was  dense ;  there  was 
no  stir  in  the  humid  air.  The  insects  bit  them  and 
stung  them  until  their  whole  bodies  seemed  to 
burn. 

They  started  out  once  more.  The  current  was 
swift,  and  here  and  there  were  whirlpools  and  threat- 
ening rapids  where  the  water  leaped  into  the  clumsy 
dugouts  and  again  and  again  threatened  to  swamp 
them.  The  day  following,  drifting  on  smooth  water, 
they  heard  once  more  the  roar  of  broken  water 
ahead.  Kermit,  leading,  was  caught  by  a  floating 
whirlpool  and  driven  straight  into  the  maelstrom. 
With  his  two  negro  paddlers,  he  held  the  canoe 
upright,  riding  the  rapids  to  their  base.  There  he 
made  for  the  shore,  but  another  whirlpool  swept 
him  back  to  midstream  and  upset  the  canoe.  One 
negro  was  drowned;  Kermit  and  the  other  barely 
reached  the  shore  in  safety. 

They  portaged  the  dugouts  and  came  on  other, 
36<? 


NEW    ADVENTURES 

rapids  immediately  below.  As  they  were  seeking 
a  passage  for  the  canoes  along  the  shore  one  of  the 
dogs  in  the  thicket  near  by  suddenly  gave  a  howl 
of  pain;  then  another.  They  ran  up  to  him.  He 
was  dead,  with  two  Indian  arrows  in  his  side. 

Cherrie  stayed  at  the  head  of  the  portage  and 
Roosevelt  at  the  foot,  as  guards  against  attack. 
One-third  of  their  food  was  gone  and  they  had  covered 
probably  scarce  a  sixth  of  their  journey.  They  had 
lost  a  man  and  four  canoes;  another  man  was  down 
with  fever.  They  were  in  a  country  of  wild  Indians 
who  could  shoot.  They  determined  to  push  ahead, 
abandon  some  of  their  equipment,  and  let  a  dozen 
of  the  paddlers  go  on  foot  along  the  shore  until  they 
reached  a  place  where  they  could  profitably  con- 
struct new  canoes. 

In  and  out  and  around  the  whirling  rapids  they 
moved  slowly  on.  Once  they  came  on  the  fresh 
tracks  of  Indians,  and  a  moment  later  heard  them 
near  by;  but  the  savages  fled  in  panic.  Shortly 
after  they  came  on  a  fishing-village,  recently  aban- 
doned, and  left  propitiatory  gifts. 

They  built  two  new  dugouts  and  again  proceeded 
northward  through  the  dripping  and  streaming 
forest,  portaging  four  hours  or  more  for  every  one 
they  paddled.  It  was  slow,  heartbreaking  work, 
with  ever  in  the  backs  of  their  minds  the  dread  of 
disaster  by  starvation  if  they  did  not  make  haste, 
and  ever  the  fear  of  disaster  by  drowning  or  the  loss 
of  their  provisions  if  they  took  a  chance  in  the 
rapids  in  order  to  gain  time.  There  was  practically 
no  game  near  by  in  the  forest.     Fish  were  scarce. 

361 


THEODORE    ROOSEVELT 

Only  at  intervals  they  found  cocoanut  or  wild  honey, 
and  now  and  then  they  shot  a  monkey.  Palm  cab- 
bage was  the  only  steady  item  of  diet  the  jungle 
contributed. 

They  came  to  a  long,  deep  gorge  through  which 
the  river  rushed  at  dangerous  speed.  To  take  laden 
canoes  through  the  gorge  was  out  of  the  question; 
to  portage  them  over  the  rock-strewn  mountain- 
side was  likewise  impossible.  Accordingly,  they  cut 
their  baggage  to  the  bone  and  bore  what  was  essen- 
tial laboriously  over  the  rough  trail  they  carved 
through  the  forest  to  the  foot  of  the  rapids,  while 
Kermit  directed  the  passage  of  the  canoes,  and  with 
infinite  labor  and  peril  after  four  days  brought  them 
through  with  the  loss  of  only  one.  They  started 
again,  only  to  find  another  gorge  ahead,  and  once 
more  they  bore  their  baggage  over  a  craggy  moun- 
tain, and  once  more  they  piloted  their  canoes  through 
the  wild  cataract.     Again  a  canoe  was  lost. 

They  made  camp  while  the  camaradas  brought  the 
loads  from  over  the  hill.  One  of  the  men,  named 
Paishon,  brought  in  a  carbine.  Another,  a  surly  and 
ferocious  man  named  Julio,  who  had  frequently  been 
reproached  by  Paishon,  the  sergeant,  for  shirking 
his  work,  dropped  his  load,  picked  up  the  carbine, 
and  returned  as  though  up-stream.  A  minute  later 
there  was  a  shot.  Julio  had  taken  a  bloody  ven- 
geance. 

Paishon  was  dead  when  they  reached  him.  The 
murderer  fled  into  the  fever  and  famine  of  the 
wilderness. 

The  exertions  and  privations  were  now  beginning 
362 


LAUNCHING   THE    CANOES    AFTER    A    PORTAGE 


THE   JUNGLE 


A    PORTAGE 


IN   THE    BRAZILIAN    WILDERNESS 
(By  courtesy  of  Charles  Scribner's  Sons) 


NEW    ADVENTURES 

to  wear  on  men  scarcely  ever  more  than  half  fed. 
The  camaradas  were  growing  constantly  weaker 
under  the  strain  of  exhausting  labor;  Kermit  was 
ill  with  fever;  Cherrie  and  Lyra  were  suffering  from 
dysentery;  Roosevelt  bruised  his  leg  against  a  bould- 
er in  the  water  and  inflammation  resulted.  A  day 
later  he,  too,  was  down  with  fever. 

For  forty-eight  hours  he  was  deadly  ill,  tormented 
by  the  heat,  tormented  by  the  venomous  insects 
that  hummed  about  him  and  crawled  over  him, 
biting  and  stinging;  tormented  most  by  the  thought 
that  the  provisions  were  running  low  and  they  had 
far  yet  to  travel,  and  that  every  hour's  delay  brought 
disaster  just  so  much  nearer  to  all.  He  lay  helpless 
on  his  broken,  insect-riddled  cot,  not  knowing  whether 
he  would  be  well  enough  to  proceed  in  a  day  or  two 
days  or  in  a  week. 

He  felt  that  he  was  at  the  end  of  the  tether. 
Death  had  no  horrors  for  him.  It  scarcely  had  any 
regrets  except  for  those  who  were  dearest  to  him. 
He  had  had  a  wonderful  time  in  life;  he  had  had  a 
wonderful  time  on  the  expedition;  he  had  done  a 
scientific  service  that  was  worth  doing.  He  was 
ready  to  pay  with  his  body. 

But  he  could  not  bear  the  thought  that  his  slow 
dying  might  mean  slow  death  to  his  companions. 
He  begged  Colonel  Rondon  to  leave  him  behind 
and  to  save  the  rest  of  the  expedition  at  least 
from  disaster.  The  fine  old  Brazilian  warrior  would 
not  listen  to  him.  Roosevelt  implored.  The  Brazil- 
ian was  obdurate. 

For  forty-eight  hours  Roosevelt  was  on  the  very 
363 


THEODORE    ROOSEVELT 

verge  of  death.  Then  the  fever  broke  a  little.  By 
a  great  effort  he  mustered  what  strength  remained 
to  him  and  said  that  he  was  well  enough  to  go  on. 
He  could  barely  crawl  over  the  portages  that  day. 
Kermit's  fever  grew  worse,  and  one  after  another 
the  camaradas  sickened. 

Ahead  of  them  loomed  new  mountains,  with 
sinister  promise  of  new,  perilous,  and  grinding  labor. 
But  for  a  day  fortune  favored  them.  The  hills 
gradually  sank  into  a  level  plain ;  they  made  twenty 
miles  on  the  swift -flowing,  unimpeded  current,  and 
only  at  the  day's  end  became  aware  of  new  cataracts 
ahead.  They  bore  their  baggage  around  the  stretch 
of  swirling  water  and  paddled  on,  again  portaged, 
and  again  moved  swiftly  down  smooth  water.  The 
country  was  very  lovely,  for  the  river  was  bordered 
by  exquisite  palms  and  wound  around  hills  cloaked 
in  fresh  green  that  glistened  brightly  in  the  sunshine. 

Then  again  they  were  among  rapids,  running  ten 
minutes,  all  told,  for  eight  hours  that  they  portaged. 
Again  all  the  next  forenoon  they  dragged  their 
boats  and  their  baggage  through  the  tangled  thicket, 
scarce  able  to  drag  their  own  bodies;  then  toward 
sunset  they  found  respite  at  last.  The  river  began 
to  run  in  tranquil  reaches.  At  the  water's  edge  they 
suddenly  came  across  cuttings,  a  year  old,  made 
evidently  by  pioneer  rubber-men.  The  next  day, 
farther  down,  they  came  upon  a  post  with  the 
initials,  "J.  A.,"  and  an  hour  later  upon  a  palm- 
thatched  house,  cool  and  clean,  guarded  by  two 
dogs. 

Late  that  afternoon  at  the  home  of  a  rubber-man 
364 


NEW    ADVENTURES 

they  saw  the  first  human  being  outside  their  own 
party  they  had  encountered  in  seven  weeks.  They 
were  once  more  among  civilized  men. 

The  peril  of  disaster  to  the  expedition  was  over. 
But  for  Roosevelt  himself  the  peril  of  death  was  still 
imminent.  The  fever  clung  on,  and  the  leg  which 
he  had  hurt  working  in  the  rapids  developed  an 
abscess.  He  hobbled  about  with  difficulty,  in  rack- 
ing pain.  But  there  was  no  halting  even  here  on 
the  outskirts  of  civilization.  He  kept  on  his  feet 
until  the  worst  of  the  rapids  were  past,  then  suc- 
cumbed and,  while  the  canoes  for  ten  days  drifted 
downward  on  the  wide,  placid  stream,  lay  stretched 
in  the  bottom  of  a  dugout  under  the  intolerable 
heat  and  the  blinding  storms,  burning  with  fever 
and  pain. 

The  end  of  April  they  reached  the  hamlet  of  Sao 
Joao,  and  two  days  later  arrived  by  steamer  at 
Manaos  on  the  Amazon.  They  had  discovered,  ex- 
plored, and  placed  on  the  map  a  river  a  thousand 
miles  long.  A  portion  of  it  near  its  source  had  been 
known  as  the  River  of  Doubt.  It  was  a  river  of 
doubt  no  more.  In  the  name  of  the  Brazilian 
government  it  was  rechristened  the  Rio  Teodoro. 


CHAPTER  XX 

THE    GREAT   AWAKENER 

ROOSEVELT  returned  to  the  United  States  the 
middle  of  May,  19 14.  Three  months  later  the 
world  was  engulfed  in  the  most  terrible  war  in 
history. 

From  the  first  day  of  the  crowded  week  of  feverish 
negotiations  and  telegrams  flying  to  and  fro  between 
the  chancelleries  and  sovereigns  of  Europe,  Roose- 
velt's mind  was  absorbed  in  the  fierce  struggle.  At 
once  domestic  issues,  even  those  over  which  he  had 
struggled  most  persistently  for  half  his  lifetime, 
yielded  their  place  in  his  thoughts  to  what  he  saw 
at  once  was  the  foremost  issue  not  only  to  the 
nations  of  Europe,  but  to  his  own  country.  The 
hand  that  had  thrown  the  blazing  torch  into  the 
powder-magazine  of  the  Old  World  had,  he  saw 
clearly,  at  the  same  moment  completely  shifted  the 
national  issues  in  the  New. 

He  was  from  the  first  acutely  conscious  of  the 
nation's  responsibilities  toward  herself  and  toward 
humanity.  That  autumn  he  published  a  series  of 
articles  in  which  he  pointed  out  the  peril  to  America 
of  trusting  for  her  safety  to  arbitration  treaties  that 

366 


THE    GREAT   AWAKENER 

rested  not  on  the  nation's  defensive  strength,  but 
merely  on  the  good  will  of  other  nations.  He  pointed 
to  the  example  of  Belgium  to  show  how  worthless 
treaties  are  when  armed  force  is  lacking  to  defend 
them,  and  called  for  an  increase  in  the  nation's 
armament  to  safeguard  her  in  the  thousand  perils 
the  World  War  must  inevitably  bring  in  its  train. 

His  demand  was  greeted  with  cries  of  horror  and 
disgust  and  violent  accusations.  The  timid  and  the 
sentimental  railed  at  him ;  the  smug  and  self-assured 
smiled  in  superior  fashion  at  the  "discredited  and 
disappointed  demagogue"  who  was  seeing  hobgoblins 
and  making  political  capital  out  of  his  hysterical 
imaginings. 

Undeterred,  he  persisted,  pointing  out  the  need 
of  some  great  league  of  nations  to  bring  about  and 
preserve  the  peace  of  righteousness  by  means  of  an 
international  tribunal  backed  by  military  force. 

The  idea  of  a  league  of  nations  was  pleasant  to 
the  ear,  and  was  approved;  but  the  idea  of  a  mili- 
tary force  without  which  such  a  league  would  be  a 
joke  as  grim  and  lamentable  as  the  Hague  Court 
was  repellant  to  men  unwilling  to  face  facts. 

Once  more  the  storms  blew  about  Roosevelt  from 
every  direction  of  the  compass  at  once.  They  blew 
hardest  from  Germany.  Before  the  great  war  was 
two  months  old  the  German  papers,  ostentatiously 
courteous  to  all  other  Americans,  were  virulently 
attacking  Theodore  Roosevelt.  The  German-lan- 
guage press  in  the  United  States  took  up  the  fight. 
Even  the  American  newspapers  printed  scathing 
letters,  and  no  one  guessed  that  three  years  later 

367 


THEODORE    ROOSEVELT 

the  eminent  doctors  of  divinity  who  signed  them 
would  be  revealed  as  the  paid  agents  of  Germany. 
Through  the  German-American  societies  ran  the 
word  that  Theodore  Roosevelt  was  persona  non 
grata.  One  after  another  they  revoked  the  honor- 
ary membership  they  had  once  been  proud  to  offer 
him.  They  burned  his  portrait  and  assailed  him  in 
resolutions. 

Germany  and  her  sympathizers  had  recognized 
at  a  glance  the  one  American  that  an  ambitious  and 
ruthless  autocracy  had  most  to  fear. 

With  the  new  year  came  the  proclamation  by 
Germany  of  a  war  zone  about  England  to  be  en- 
forced with  submarines.  Roosevelt  heartily  ap- 
plauded the  President's  note  holding  Germany  to 
"strict  accountability"  and  again  pleaded  for  pre- 
paredness to  meet  any  national  exigency  which 
might  present  itself  in  consequence  of  it.  The 
peace-at-any-price  folk  protested,  assailing  him 
for  his  bloodthirsty  militarism.  The  pro-Germans 
sneered  and  scolded.  The  timid  good,  bewailing 
the  fate  of  the  Belgians  over  their  teacups,  were 
shocked  at  his  stern  demands.  The  great  mass  of 
the  people  were  too  busy  that  first  winter,  fighting 
hard  times,  to  listen  to  him;  as  spring  came,  and  with 
it  the  first  hint  of  a  new  and  bloody  prosperity,  they 
became  too  dazzled  by  alluring  "war  brides"  to  hear 
the  voice  of  a  prophet  calling  to  arms. 

On  May  7,  191 5,  the  Lusitania  was  sunk. 

"Without  twenty-four  hours'  delay,"  said  Roose- 
velt, next  day,  "this  country  should  declare  that, 
in  view  of  Germany's  murderous  offenses  against  the 

368 


THE    GREAT    AWAKENER 

rights  of  neutrals,  all  commerce  with  Germany  shall 
be  henceforth  forbidden  and  all  commerce  of  every 
kind  permitted  and  encouraged  with  France,  Eng- 
land, and  the  civilized  world.  This  would  not  be  a 
declaration  of  war.  I  do  not  believe  the  assertion 
of  our  rights  means  war,  but  we  will  do  well  to  re- 
member there  are  things  worse  than  war." 

He  himself  expected  war.  Sooner  or  later  he 
knew  that  the  crash  must  come,  that  the  United 
States  could  not  indefinitely  bow  to  a  Junker's  arro- 
gance and  ruthless  disregard  of  right,  without  losing 
all  self-respect  and  all  prestige  among  the  nations; 
and  he  pleaded  for  that  preparedness  not  only  of 
battle-ships  and  armed  men,  but  of  the  spirit,  which 
alone  could  prevent  national  disaster. 

There  must  not  be  merely  preparedness  in  things  material 
[he  cried].  There  must  be  preparedness  in  soul  and  mind.  To 
prepare  a  great  army  and  navy  without  preparing  a  national 
spirit  would  avail  nothing.  .  .  .  We  should  devote  ourselves  as  a 
preparation  to  preparedness,  alike  in  peace  and  war,  to  secure 
the  three  elemental  things;  one,  a  common  language,  the 
English  language;  two,  the  increase  in  our  social  loyalty — 
citizenship  absolutely  undivided,  a  citizenship  which  acknowl- 
edges no  flag  except  the  flag  of  the  United  States  and  which 
emphatically  repudiates  all  duality  of  national  loyalty;  and 
third,  an  intelligent  and  resolute  effort  for  the  removal  of 
industrial  and  social  unrest,  an  effort  which  shall  aim  equally 
to  secure  every  man  his  rights  and  to  make  every  man  under- 
stand that  unless  he  in  good  faith  performs  his  duties  he  is  not 
entitled  to  any  rights  at  all. 

Vigorously  and  with  burning  sincerity,  in  season 
and  out  of  season,  he  preached  preparedness,  Ameri- 
canism, and  national  self-respect.     He  met  first  a 
24  369 


THEODORE    ROOSEVELT 

feeble  and  then  a  growing  and  deepening  chorus  of 
assent.  But  the  voices  of  the  pacifists  and  the 
sentimentalists  and  the  materialists,  who  were  well 


HE  S   GOOD   ENOUGH    FOR   ALL 

(From    the    New    York    Evening    Sun) 


satisfied  to  eat,  to  drink,  and  to  be  merry  on  their 
new-won  millions,  filled  the  air  with  shrill,  opposing 
cries  or  surly  growls  "to  leave  well  enough  alone." 
On  all  sides  was  heard  the  chatter  of  men  and  women 
eager  to  believe  that  eloquence  could,  fling  a  con- 

3.7° 


THE    GREAT    AWAKENER 

queror  back  within  his  boundaries.  During  those 
months,  that  ran  at  last  into  years,  the  country  was 
possessed  by  a  very  spirit  of  mad  and  sentimental 
theorizing.  An  automobile  manufacturer  chartered 
a  ship  and  led  a  crusade  of  social  workers,  verse- 
writers,  stenographers,  and  elderly  small- town  oracles 
to  release  the  soldiers  from  the  trenches.  Every 
manner  of  scheme  was  devised  to  frighten  the  Ger- 
man terror  away  with  gestures  and  words  on  paper. 

And  always  Roosevelt's  voice  boomed  like  a  great 
bell  through  the  endless  chattering,  saying:  "You 
can't  do  it  that  way.  You  can't  have  the  millennium 
for  a  scratch  of  a  pen  on  parchment.  You  can't 
have  peace  without  sacrifice.  You  can't  have  se- 
curity without  service.  You  can't  enjoy  rights 
without  fulfilling  obligations!" 

It  was  a  hard,  unwelcome  doctrine,  and  derision, 
hatred,  and  scorn  were  poured  over  the  preacher  of 
it.  The  American  people  had  been  allowed  to  drift 
into  complacent  indifference  to  intolerable  wrongs. 
Their  conscience  had  been  lulled.  A  period  of  pros- 
perity never  paralleled  in  the  history  of  the  country 
had  followed  the  years  of  business  depression  and 
want.  The  American  people  desired  neither  to  think 
deeply  nor  to  feel  deeply.     They  wanted  to  enjoy. 

"Safety  first!"  was  the  slogan  that  flew  over  the 
country. 

"Duty  first!"  boomed  Roosevelt. 

Gradually,  here  and  there,  'his  doctrines  gained 
converts,  but  it  was  a  long,  up-hill  fight,  for  com- 
placency in  ignoble  ease  was  held  up  by  well-meaning 
supporters  of  peace  as  a  commendable  virtue,  and 

37i 


THEODORE    ROOSEVELT 

his  own  insistence  on  the  duty  of  American  citizens 
to  uphold  and,  if  need  be,  to  defend  their  rights,  was 
cried  down  as  rank  jingoism.  As  the  presidential 
election  of  1916  drew  near  it  became  evident  that 
the  issues  of  national  preparedness  and  national 
duty  which  he  had  raised  would  mark  the  line  of 
cleavage  between  the  two  parties.  With  the  com- 
ing of  the  new  year  Roosevelt's  campaign  of  educa- 
tion began  to  show  its  results.  All  over  the  country 
the  sentiment  in  favor  of  preparedness  began  to 
grow.  The  Democratic  leaders,  who  had  ridiculed 
or  evaded  the  question,  now  skilfully  checked  their 
opponents  by  themselves  demanding  preparedness 
on  a  huge  scale  without  a  day's  delay. 

The  natural  leader  for  an  issue  which  Roosevelt 
had  created  was  Roosevelt  himself,  and  with  in- 
creasing emphasis  the  demand  was  made  that  he 
become  a  candidate  for  the  Presidency. 

His  answer  to  the  question  whether  he  would  enter 
the  race  was  clear  and  ringing: 

It  would  be  a  mistake  to  nominate  me  [he  said,  in  a  statement 
which  he  made  at  Trinidad,  after  a  trip  through  the  Spanish 
Main  early  in  March]  unless  the  country  had  in  its  mood  some- 
thing of  the  heroic;  unless  it  feels  not  only  like  devoting  itself 
to  ideals,  but  to  the  purpose  measurably  to  realize  those  ideals 
in  action. 

During  the  months  that  followed  Roosevelt  made 
no  partisan  or  factional  fight  for  the  nomination, 
but  here  and  there  he  spoke  on  the  broad  questions  of 
Americanism  and  national  honor  in  a  spirit  and  with 
an  eloquence  that  kindled  the  best  impulses  of  the 
American  people.     Roosevelt,  who  had   been   "re- 

372 


THE    GREAT    AWAKENER 

pudiated"  in  1910,  defeated  in  191 2,  and  in  191 4 
consigned  to  oblivion  alike  by  American  and  foreign 
observers  after  being  deserted  by  the  members  of 
the  party  he  had  created  and  led  in  the  bitterest 
political  struggle  in  fifty  years,  was  again  the  fore- 
most figure  in  American  politics.  Defeat  had  been 
unable  to  keep  him  in  obscurity;  calumny  had  left 
no  blot  on  his  character ;  the  pitiless  light  of  a  politi- 
cal libel  suit  had  revealed  no  word  or  act  in  his  long 
public  record  of  which  he  or  his  supporters  need 
feel  ashamed. 

The  conventions  of  the  Republican  and  Progressive 
parties  met  simultaneously  at  Chicago  early  in  June. 
There  was  much  running  to  and  fro  among  the  lead- 
ers of  both  parties,  much  scurrying  about  in  search 
of  a  basis  of  common  action.  But  the  stand-pat 
Republican  leaders  had  learned  nothing  and  for- 
gotten nothing,  and  the  Republican  delegates  were 
hard-bit,  short-sighted,  and  politically  timid  men 
and  refused  to  grasp  the  clear  issue  which  the 
nomination  of  Roosevelt  would  present.  They 
nominated  Justice  Hughes  instead.  The  Progres- 
sives nominated  Roosevelt.  Roosevelt,  recognizing 
clearly  that  in  division  lay  defeat  and  counting  the 
cause  for  which  he  had  so  valiantly  fought  as  su- 
preme over  all  personal  considerations,  refused  the 
nomination  and  offered  his  support  to  Hughes. 

In  the  ensuing  campaign  the  Democratic  party, 
led  by  the  President  as  a  candidate  for  re-election, 
appealed  to  the  people  on  its  record  of  keeping  the 
country  out  of  war.  Roosevelt  begged  the  Repub- 
lican managers  that  the  issue  be  made  unmistak- 

3  73 


THEODORE    ROOSEVELT 

ably  clear,  that  against  " Safety  First!"  the  slogan 
of  ilDuty  First!"  be  the  battle-cry  of  the  Republicans. 
But  the  counsels  of  timidity  prevailed,  and  in  an 
uninspiring  campaign  the  Republican  party  lost  the- 
chance  of  a  century  to  achieve  either  a  glorious  vic- 
tory or  to  go  down  to  a  scarcely  less  glorious  defeat. 

The  President  was  re-elected.  Three  months 
later  the  German  ambassador  was  given  his  pass- 
ports. Two  months  thereafter  America  was  at  war 
with  Germany. 

During  the  Mexican  troubles  of  the  preceding 
spring  Roosevelt  had  offered  to  raise  a  division  of 
volunteers  similar  in  character  to  the  Rough  Riders. 
The  day  the  German  ambassador  was  expelled  he 
renewed  his  offer.  It  was  declined.  Congress  there- 
upon authorized  the  raising  of  four  divisions  of 
volunteers.  Two  hundred  thousand  men  had  mean- 
while asked  to  serve  under  his  command,  and  Roose- 
velt once  more  made  his  offer.  It  was  again  and 
now  definitely  declined. 

Roosevelt  was  deeply  disappointed.  "As  far  as 
I  am  concerned,"  he  said,  "this  is  a  very  exclusive 
war." 

He  could  not  go  himself,  but  he  was  not  without 
representatives  at  the  front.  One  after  the  other 
his  four  sons  volunteered  and  sailed,  Theodore, 
Archibald,  and  Quentin  for  France,  Kermit  for 
Mesopotamia.  Quentin,  the  youngest,  was  only 
nineteen. 

"It  was  hard  when  Quentin  went,"  said  one  to 
whom  they  were  dear,  "but  you  can't  bring  up  boys 
to  be  eagles  and  expect  them  to  act  like  sparrows." 

374 


THE    GREAT    AWAKENER 

Roosevelt,  forbidden  to  fight  in  the  field,  turned 
his  attention  to  the  winning  of  the  war  at  home. 
There  was  no  good  cause  which  during  the  months 
that  followed  he  did  not  aid  with  the  force  of  his 
eloquence.  He  reserved  his  right  of  public  criticism 
of  the  acts  of  the  Administration,  and  exercised  it 
practically  alone  among  the  leaders  of  the  opposition 
party,  with  an  energy  and  incisiveness  which  won 
the  gratitude  of  men  eager  that  America  should  act 
speedily  and  act  greatly;  and  drew  on  him  the  cry 
of  "Treason ! "  from  all  the  sinister,  half -hidden  forces 
still  working  in  the  interests  of  the  enemy. 

He  was  called  a  "common  scold"  and  cheerfully 
bore  the  accusation,  seeing  the  demands  that  he 
made  for  action  in  this  field  or  the  other,  one  after 
another,  accepted.  A  private  citizen,  he  became 
one  of  the  most  potent  factors  in  the  translation 
into  effective  action  of  the  President's  eloquent 
expression  of  the  nation's  aims. 

His  son  Archibald  was  wounded ;  his  son  Theodore 
was  gassed  and  later  wounded;  his  son  Quentin  fell 
fighting  in  the  air,  high  over  the  German  lines;  but 
at  home  the  men  who  had  fought  him  most  bitterly 
turned  to  him  once  more  for  leadership,  realizing 
that  in  the  great  schism  of  191 2,  he,  and  not  they, 
had  been  right,  and  calling  him  the  "savior  of  the 
party,"  the  "savior  of  the  country." 

He  went  his  way,  struggling  to  make  the  full  force 
of  America  felt  on  the  battle-lines  in  France. 

THE    END 


WW.' ■■■■,'!' '■ 


